Fake Tattoos Are Rad
by Rainbowbananas
Summary: Lassie gets drunk and does something impulsive, Shawn doesn't react well. Come for the Shawn whump, stay for the Shassie!
1. Chapter 1

_AN: Well, here goes. First ever fanfic! Of anything! So, tell me (in details! Oh, how I love details!) what you love, what you hate, what makes you tilt your head to the side and go "Whaaa...?" _

_This will contain: violence, same- and opposite-sex sex (sexy sex), cursing, spoilers, terrible and/or nonexistant editing... this is an exercise to make me write more better faster. But it will also be fun! I hope. I don't have too much of a structure planned for this story, so feel free to request/suggest! But also don't be surprised when I don't listen :P_

_Lastly, (I'm sorry for this super-long note. I promise no more of this length.) this story requires a bit of setup. This first chapter is my take on the scene in episode 10, season 1, "From the Earth to Starbucks" where drunk!Lassie rants all over Shawn about how he's not a good cop anymore. Seriously, for MOST of this chapter, it feels like plagiarism. But hopefully this details I added will be enough to make it interesting, and I promise the next chapter is almost done! And don't worry, it's all original(ish) material from here. _

_Thanks for reading, and pretty please review!_

Ch. 1

Shawn took a gulp of his drink as he began to wander back toward the bar, and his date ran off to call her ex-boyfriend. He looked around the crowded restaurant, taking in all the tiny details and filing them away, and then stopped, staring at the tall, dark-haired man slumped at a table by himself, holding his head.

"Lassie?"

"Spencer! Why am I surprised…" Lassiter sounded ever-so-slightly genuinely pleased to see Shawn. This needed exploring.

"Why are you wasted?"

Lassiter ignored the question, turning to shout for another drink. As Shawn approached the detective's table, he mentally revised "wasted" to "utterly shitfaced." Lassiter smelled like gasoline and body odor, and the dark circles under his eyes, as well as the lines on his face, seemed only a continuation of the wrinkled and stained ruin of his normally pristine clothes.

_Jesus, Lassie,_ thought Shawn, as Lassiter continued babbling at him. _What the hell happened to you?_ Earlier that day, Lassiter had seemed fine, if maybe a little over-caffeinated… and even more impatient with McNab than normal… and when Shawn sat down on Lassiter's desk, plucked the pencil from the detective's hands, and opened his mouth to say something hilarious, Lassiter simply got up and walked away. Juliet had merely shrugged and gone back to her own paperwork, so Shawn spent a few minutes flirting with her, and then, more subtly, with McNab, before he left. He knew McNab was totally straight, and married, but he was just so much fun to mess with! Almost as fun as Lassie.

"You astound me." The grating, slurred voice interrupted his thoughts, and he looked at Lassiter in shock.

"C-Come again?" said Shawn.

"It's beyond astounding; it is some of the most impressive reasoning I've ever seen." This sentence was delivered in the overly-enunciated voice of the truly inebriated, as Lassiter leaned in and stared at Shawn. Shawn stared back as the detective continued to babble, trying to see past the fog of alcohol and figure out what exactly was happening.

"Is there a punch line coming? Let's get to it," Shawn said, looking down, feeling the familiar twist in his stomach that normally accompanied talking to his father. _Weird. It's just a drunk Lassie. I wish Gus were here to see this. Wait, _just_ a drunk Lassie? I should see if I can record this conversation with my phone or something. For posterity._

But Lassiter continued, spilling bitter compliments at Shawn between gulps of Scotch. Shawn was amazing. Shawn was unstoppable. Shawn was definitely not a psychic, but he had the best mind Lassiter had ever worked with.

He suddenly looked at Shawn with wide blue eyes, and lurched closer. "Can I tell you a secret?" Over Shawn's protest, he said, in a voice that was somehow amused and hopeless at once, "You know how everyone thinks my wife and I have been separated for nine months?"

"Yes?"

"Two years. Two years tonight, and I'm the one that keeps tryin' to fix the thing…" Lassiter reached behind him for his drink and unbalanced, nearly falling, but Shawn grabbed his elbow and pulled the detective back toward him. _Just keep pulling_, said a tiny voice in his head, one that Shawn normally listened to without question. _Just put your other arm around him and pull him close and kiss him…_ As much fun as the voice usually got him into, Shawn told it to shut up for now. No way was he trying anything with Lassie so clearly fucked up, and not just from the alcohol.

"Well." Shawn looked around. He really didn't want to be here for this. Why couldn't Lassie break down in the privacy of his own home, where no one had to see him and feel useless because they couldn't help? He had to leave. "I'm gonna let you go. Don't drive."

"You know, I used to be a good cop. Seriously. Stunning arrest record…" Lassiter continued talking like he hadn't even heard Shawn. "I caught the Black Bay Killer."

"Yes you did!" Shawn said, a little too loudly. "I remember it well." _Please let me go._

"Though, I had a tip."

"The blue sedan."

"Yeah…" Lassiter focused on Shawn, a look of horror blooming on his face. "That was you?"

_Shit._ _Why did you say that? _"It… might have been."

"See what I mean?" Lassiter slumped back onto the table, and kept talking. He was over, he was done, he even got out his handcuffs and told Shawn to take them, as he wouldn't need them anymore. Shawn tried halfheartedly to get him to stop with the normal barrage of ridiculous compliments, but when he'd finished, Lassiter again seemed not to have noticed Shawn speaking. He told Shawn about the case that was eating him up inside, the case that finally made him realize he was done. When he was through ranting, Shawn took a deep breath.

"Lassie… Carlton." That was weird. "I believe in you, man! I really do, you just gotta trust your instincts!" _Wow. I believe in you, man? Yeah, that'll get through to him! Shawn Spencer, basically the cause of all his misery, _believes_ in him. Good job._ As he finished saying the cheerful words, a scream came from the other side of the bar. Shawn's date came running over, bouncing with excitement.

"I just got engaged!" She shrieked.

As Shawn turned back to Lassiter, he started to talk again, in the hopes that this would forestall further drunken ramblings. He didn't need to worry – Shawn turned around just in time to see Lassiter slide bonelessly off his stool and onto the floor.

Again, _shit_. Shawn stood staring for a moment, then looked around. A few people glanced their way, but for the most part the people in the bar had more interesting things to do than watch a man spill his guts to his enemy. Well, Lassiter always said they were enemies.

_I can't just leave him here_. Sighing, Shawn ran his hands through his hair. As much as he would love to just draw a big moustache on Lassiter and go home, he couldn't. Lassiter hadn't been angry; he hadn't even blamed Shawn for solving all those cases. He'd been resigned, bitter, defeated. And Lassiter didn't have a Gus to come over at three in the morning and pry the bottle from his hands, and suggest sleep instead of a late-night motorcycle ride. Lassiter had guns, and an empty apartment, and probably more alcohol, none of which were likely to help him out of the hole he'd fallen into.

So Shawn called a taxi, and sat down on the floor to attempt to wake Lassiter. "Lassie… Lassie… come on, buddy, open your eyes. You're like twelve feet taller than me; there's no way I can carry you. Lassie. Carlton. Come on…" Several minutes of talking and gentle slaps to the face did nothing. "Lassie! Wake up! Be vertical for like five seconds for me…"

Exasperated, Shawn grabbed the drink still sitting on the table and tossed it into Lassiter's face. This elicited a shocked splutter and a flail, and the detective finally opened glassy eyes. Shawn stifled a giggle and put a hand on his shoulder. "Lassie? Lassitude? Hey, that's actually a word. Hey, Lassie, you in there? You wanna come outside with me?"

Lassiter just stared, straight in front of him, eyes starting to droop shut again. Shawn put his hand on Lassiter's cheek, turning Lassiter's head to face him.

Lassiter's eyes finally focused on Shawn, and then widened. "Spencer…?" He whispered.

"Lassie?"

Lassiter just leaned forward, eyes closing, and before Shawn could move their lips connected.

And stayed connected.

Lassiter put one hand around the back of Shawn's head, fingers burrowing into his hair, and the other around the small of Shawn's back, pulling him closer as Lassiter opened his mouth. Shawn felt strong fingers, a warm body, and soft lips, and reciprocated unthinkingly, clasping Lassiter's head with both hands and shuddering a little as Lassiter's tongue entered his mouth.

After a few seconds, Shawn dragged his face away with a gasp. Lassiter let out a soft growl, and tried weakly to pull Shawn back, but his hands seemed to have lost their urgency, and with a last indignant mumble, Lassiter passed out again, leaving a pale and wide-eyed Shawn staring at him.

_What. The. Hell. _Shawn could only form one thought, and it ran around and around in his mind. _What the hell. _

Luckily, the taxi arrived just then, and the driver turned out to be an old, cigar-chomping Italian man whose daughter Shawn had rescued from her mother (the driver's now-ex-wife) and the mother's psychotic boyfriend a month or so ago. Franco was the man's name, and he yanked Shawn off the floor into a tobacco-scented, back-slapping hug, after which he helped Shawn carry Lassiter to the taxi, laughing uproariously the whole time.

After Franco got them to Shawn's apartment, and helped Shawn carry Lassiter inside, and refused to take any of Shawn's money, and drove away still laughing, Shawn looked at the now-snoring man sprawled on his couch.

_Awesome. Now what?_


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: Wow. So this chapter took waaaay longer than it should have. Sorry. Thank you to my reviewer, I haven't read it yet because I was making myself wait until I at least got another chapter up, but now I'm free to read it! Yay! Anyway, here's chapter two, in which we aren't getting to the whump quite as fast as I'd like, but it's coming, I promise. Next chapter. Um, what else? Customary warnings about content and spoilers, and I own nothing Psych-related. Thanks for reading, hope you enjoy!_

Lassiter woke with a violent jerk, his hand reaching for the gun he always kept under his pillow. His fingers found only the edge of a couch cushion, sprinkled liberally with crumbs. _What the hell?_ He was on a couch? Not his couch; his couch would never be so filthy. And where were his shoes? Lassiter cracked an eyelid and immediately squeezed both eyes shut again with a moan.

"Nnnnnnnnnghfuuuuck…" His head was pounding like people were hitting it with sledgehammers. From the inside.

"Lassie? You awake?" called a cheerful, familiar voice. There was a bang, then a clatter, then the sound of bare feet on carpet, walking toward Lassiter, who kept his eyes squeezed shut and his arm draped over his face. He simply could not face Spencer in this condition. _Shit. Spencer. I'm at Spencer's place. _He quickly ran through his mental post-bender checklist. No serious pain anywhere but his head; wallet, phone and keys poking him in the ass due to being in his back pocket; gun, handcuffs, and shoes still unaccounted for. Handcuffs… _Oh, God, last night… I poured out my little insecurities like a sixteen-year-old girl. And then… oh, God. _

A hand on his shoulder startled him, but it was gentle and his head hurt too much to make any sudden movements.

"Come on buddy, open your eyes. I have ridiculously powerful pain pills and a Gatorade here. Believe me, they are exactly what you need." The hand shook his shoulder a little.

Stifling another moan, Lassiter opened his eyes and struggled into a sitting position on the couch. He opened his eyes slowly, and squinted up at Spencer, who was wearing nothing but a pair of Superman boxers and a cheerful smile. He handed Lassiter a bright-orange bottle and two little white pills.

Lassiter squinted suspiciously at the pills rather than continue to stare at a half-naked Spencer. "What are these?" He wouldn't be surprised if the obnoxious little prick thought nothing of giving him illegal substances, or even did it as a joke.

In answer, Spencer rolled his eyes. "Just Tylenol 3. Don't worry, Lassie, I wouldn't force any fun on you…" Pretending not to see the sudden anger on Lassiter's face, Spencer skipped (_skipped!_) away, back to whatever he'd been doing. With a grimace, Lassiter popped the pills in his mouth and, opening the Gatorade, chugged about half the bottle. He sighed as his headache diminished and his mouth felt a little less like it was full of crushed glass and mold.

With the pain relieved, Lassiter was able to look around and examine more thoroughly the room in which he'd apparently spent the night. The couch used to be white, he thought, before it was Spencer's, probably. He was covered with an old, pink, knitted throw blanket. The floor, the TV, and every other surface was covered in clothes, books, random papers, dishes, toys... His shoes, handcuffs, and gun were nowhere to be seen.

He checked his phone, relieved to see he had no messages. And why would he? It was six forty-five in the morning, which meant he wasn't late for work, and it wasn't like his ex would have anything new to say to him. Rubbing his face, Lassiter quickly forced himself to stop thinking about her.

"Spencer," Lassiter started, coming to stand in the kitchen doorway. The kitchen was even more of a disaster than the living room, covered in cooking implements Lassiter had never seen, and food everywhere. There was flour sprayed across the counter, boxes of cereal on every surface, a bag of raisins on the floor, and the table was covered in apples, scattered randomly. In the midst of this, Spencer sat on the floor, wearing superman boxers and nothing else, reading a magazine, while behind him a pan on the stove sizzled and popped. Lassiter tried not to notice the way the sun from the window traced golden lines along Spencer's shoulder muscles and down his collarbone. He kept his hands curled into fists so he wouldn't run his fingers through Spencer's tousled hair, which waved in all directions, damp from a shower, presumably. He looked up and, for a moment, seemed not to see Lassiter standing in the doorway, his eyes focused on something far beyond the detective. Then a shudder ran through him and a bright grin broke across his face.

"Lassie! You're up! Told you I knew exactly what you needed. You feel a lot better, right?" He got up and poked at the pan with a fork. "Feel like breakfast? I here are some eggs or there's cereal or pancakes or we can go out somewhere for food, I mean I'm never hungry when I'm hung over, but I bet you make sure you get a balanced breakfast in every day, right? Do – "

"Spencer, shut up!" Lassiter snapped when he could take no more of the other man's babbling. He rubbed his fingers over his temples. "I don't want breakfast. I want my handcuffs back, and I want to go to work, and I want to forget last night happened…" he finished in a whisper, looking down as his own big pale feet against the carpet. He'd always hated his feet.

Spencer jumped up without a word, ran past Lassiter, and came back a minute later holding Lassiter's shoes, gun, and handcuffs. Lassiter reached for them, but Spencer yanked them back with a teasing grin and opened his mouth to say something, but was interrupted suddenly by his phone, blaring some song that Lassiter didn't recognize. Spencer snatched his phone from the counter, shoved Lassiter's things into his arms, and plopped back down to sit on the floor.

He answered the phone happily, "Buddy! What's up? You want me to bring your fireman pj's to the station? I know you want them back," Then, the happiness draining from his voice, he hissed, "You're what? No, Gus, not now! Gus?" Shawn tossed his phone aside, making Lassiter wince as it clattered across the floor, and scrambled to his feet.

As he ran past Lassiter, making for the front door, Lassiter heard a car door open and close outside, followed by a loud voice yelling, "Shawn! Don't make me come inside and get you, you know I have a very important meeting this morning!"

Spencer slammed the door behind him and ran outside to his friend, leaving Lassiter standing staring at the door, absolutely at a loss. _What the hell is wrong with him? What could Guster want that makes Spencer so anxious? I should try to leave before he gets back. Oh, shit, Spencer was still just wearing boxers… he'll be back soon! I don't want to stick around long enough to have to talk about last night._ As this thought occurred, he couldn't help picturing Shawn, sunlit and happy and mostly naked, when he'd first woken up this morning; he'd been clenching his fists behind him for the past ten minutes so Spencer wouldn't see his fingers twitch. He really wanted to see if the younger man's skin was as soft as it looked.

The door banged open, startling Lassiter out of his thoughts, and he whirled a little guiltily to see Guster, clearly furious from the way he was grinding his teeth, shouting at a frantically struggling Shawn, who he was dragging by the wrist back into the apartment. "You told me you were ok when I left last night! Dammit Shawn, why didn't you call me? No, shut up, I'm mad at you! You know I can rush this prescription through if I have to, though I wouldn't have to if you would stop throwing your damn pills away!" Guster practically pushed Shawn to sit down on the sofa Lassiter had slept on, only then noticing Lassiter still hovering in the doorway to the kitchen. He stared, mouth hanging open, taking in Lassiter's rumpled hair, bare feet, and shoes dangling from his arms.

"Lassiter? What the hell?" He turned to Spencer, who was sitting slumped, head down on the couch, not bouncing, not talking, showing no sign of his customary boundless energy.

Spencer sighed. "That's what I was trying to tell you. Lassie's here…"

"I can see that, Shawn. _Why_ is he here?"

"Because… because he found me drunk at some bar last night and dragged me back here, and then it was really late so he slept over." Spencer blurted, not looking at Lassiter.

_What is he doing? He's lying to Guster? _Lassiter cleared his throat and said, gruffly, "Well, I should get to the station, I have… crime… to solve." Ignoring the incredulous looks on both men's faces, he walked to the door. _I can't believe I just said that. I can't believe he lied for me. To _Guster_. Why would he do that? And after I just heard about his medication, which he clearly didn't want. Wait. Guster said Spencer said he was ok last night… is he not ok now? What am I missing?_

Feeling guilt stab at him for the imposition he was about to commit, Lassiter turned slowly from the door to face Spencer and Guster, who were having some sort of whispered argument. Guster was shaking Spencer's shoulders, but he stopped when Lassiter said, "Um, Spencer? Could I talk to you for a second?" Without waiting for an answer, he went out the door, and stood on the step outside, looking at the busy street.

When the door clicked shut behind him, he turned, to see Spencer, who had thrown a green long-sleeved t-shirt on. Lassiter examined him closely, and felt guilt stab at him even more sharply, as he realized what Guster had meant. Spencer was clearly not all right, and Lassiter had failed to see it, as he'd been so wrapped up in his own problems. One of which was Spencer, but still. The other man was pale, his eyes red-rimmed and darkly shadowed, and he looked like he hadn't been eating. His fingers, just visible as he hugged the t-shirt to himself, were ragged and scabbed, and the cuts looked like they extended up past the sleeves.

"Um. Thank you. For telling Guster… that." Lassiter shook his head at his own inadequate words. "I mean, I really appreciate – I never expected – are you alright?" As Spencer stared up at him during this speech, tears suddenly welled in Spencer's eyes, and he hugged himself more tightly.

Spencer dropped his head and wiped his eyes roughly. "Yeah, Lassie, I'm good. And you're welcome." He rasped, tears still clinging to his voice. "And I'm ok, I really am. You know what Gus is like. I'll see you at the station later." Without looking at Lassiter, Spencer opened the door and went back inside his apartment. Lassiter heard Guster start shouting again. Willing himself to just forget about the past twenty-four hours, Lassiter shoved his shoes on his feet and walked as fast as he could to the street to get a taxi.


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: Things are about to get real. I have about half the next chapter written, and I wanted to include it in this, but I'm not sure about where it's going and I don't know when I'll have a lot of time to write again. So, just this scene for now. As always, proceed with caution and I own nothing. Thanks for reading, and please leave me your thoughts! _

Too much. It was too much. Shawn felt his chest tighten and was afraid that if he met Lassiter's eyes, he'd see the panic that was welling up from Shawn's stomach and then the detective would ask more questions, and find out how very screwed-up Shawn was, not that Lassiter wasn't already repulsed by him, as his behavior all morning could attest. So he kept his head down, ignoring the detective's worried gaze, and went back inside, where Gus was waiting.

"Shawn. You went out drinking last night? And you got so drunk Lassiter had to bring you home?" Gus was still angry, apparently. Shawn kept his head down and went to sit on the couch, pulling his knees up to his chest. When had it gotten so cold? "Man, what is going on? You said you were fine, why didn't you call me?"

Silence. _Because Lassie was passed out on my couch, and I still thought I had a chance. And I was really counting on the fruit thing to work._ After a moment, Shawn mumbled, still staring at the floor, "Don't know. M'sorry, buddy. I just…" he trailed off, feeling his throat close and more tears threaten. _I really thought I was fine. You don't deserve this, I'm so sorry._

"Just didn't want to take your meds. Well, you are not getting out of this, Shawn." Gus kept talking as he walked toward the kitchen. _Shit, the kitchen. If he sees he'll never leave. Distract him!_

"I'm… not taking anything." He winced at the quiver in his voice, but Gus's feet stopped moving toward the kitchen.

"What." Gus was using the Serious Business Voice. Shawn hated that voice. Gus only used it when Shawn had done something so unforgivably stupid or reckless that Gus couldn't joke about it. "You are taking your meds. Stop playing."

"N-no, I'm not. Gus, please, I can't think with the meds! And I have to go to the station and find us another case today; I have to be on top of my game!" As Shawn talked, he felt his chest tighten even more, and nausea twisted his stomach. He bit his lip and breathed through his nose, willing himself not to throw up. _Not now. Please not now. Just get Gus to leave and then you can freak out all on your own._

Gus sat down on the couch beside him. When he spoke, he was still using the Serious Business Voice. "Shawn."

_Why does he keep saying my name? God, my chest hurts._

"I brought you your meds because you promised me that you would start taking them."

"I know. I'm sorry."

"I am already late for work."

"I know. I'm sorry."

"In fact, I think it's fair to say I'm going to have to reschedule this meeting. If they're even willing to reschedule."

"I know, I'm sorry!"

A sigh. Silence. Then, Gus was heading for the kitchen again, clearly done talking and not about to take no for an answer. The iron bands around Shawn's chest tightened viciously, and he tried to say something, anything to keep Gus in the living room, but only managed a rough gasp. He shut his eyes and tried to breathe as he waited for the storm.

"SHAWN!" There it was. Gus had seen the ruin of the kitchen – the food everywhere, the six different pans with half-cooked food still in them scattered about, the writing on the windows, listing all the fruits he could think of and rating their deliciousness. The ashtray full of cigarette butts, which he'd managed to hide from Lassiter, but which Gus knew to look for.

There was a clatter, and Gus came stomping back into the living room to stand over Shawn, who kept his eyes closed. "Did you sleep at all last night?"

It took him a few tries, but Shawn managed to whisper, "No."

"Shit, Shawn, that's three nights in a row! And don't even try to convince me that napping in the car on the way to the station counts." Gus continued talking, but Shawn wasn't even trying to listen anymore. He was too preoccupied trying to breathe around the giant fist crushing his chest. He tried to gasp in a breath, but his throat closed entirely, just as his stomach rolled with nausea.

"Why do you always push me away? I'm trying to help you, Shawn, but you – Shawn? Shawn, are you all right? Shawn!" Gus dropped to his knees in front of his best friend, who had just laid his head on his knees and covered it with his arms. The pain in his chest was tearing him up inside. His breathing was speeding up, becoming desperate, as he struggled for air. He felt hands lift his head and Gus' worried face swam into focus.

Gus was talking, shouting, but Shawn was having trouble hearing over the pounding of his own heart. "Gus – I can't –can't breathe – oh God…" he wheezed, and almost toppled headfirst off the couch. Gus saved him with an arm around his shoulders, coming to sit behind him on the couch. The warmth of Gus' arms around him made him realize how cold he felt – he was shaking, and not just from lack of air. Gripping Gus' arm, Shawn let his head fall back onto his friend's chest, unable to hold it up any longer.

_Can't breathe – can't breathe – can't breathe –_

Gus' voice was a soothing rumble, all the anger gone. "Come on, Shawn. I've got you. Just breathe."

The weight crushing him refused to lift, and Shawn's chest heaved as his legs shuffled weakly. His breath was shallow and very fast, and the dizziness was not helping the nausea – _oh, no…_

A surprised cough came from behind Shawn as he lurched forward and felt his elbow hit something soft. _Sorry, buddy,_ he thought, and then couldn't think anymore as his stomach revolted and he threw up beside the couch. It felt like someone had reached down his throat, grabbed his stomach, and was now ripping the organ out of him. In between frantic gasps, he couldn't stop the small whimpers he was making. Tears trickled down his face.

Hands tightened on his shoulders as his stomach wrenched again and he let out a sob. "Shh, Shawn, it's ok. Just breathe. It's ok, I'm here. You'll be alright." A hand started rubbing his back in circles.

_Liar_, Shawn thought bitterly, as he gagged and dry heaved. The tightness in his chest had eased enough for him to breathe, but he felt no relief, only the shivers and sobs that wracked his body. He let Gus pull him back onto the couch and wrap his arms around him, still talking. "Come on, it's ok. The worst part is over. Shh, it's ok."

"Gus… m'cold…" Shawn sniffled and tried to burrow deeper into his friend's arms, his whole body shaking uncontrollably. He felt Gus shifting and wriggling behind him, and opened his eyes. "What –" he didn't finish the sentence, as he felt Gus pull the blanket Lassiter had slept under over them both. With a grateful sigh, Shawn turned on his side so his head was pillowed on Gus' shoulder, and closed his eyes. Slowly, he stopped shivering, and felt his clenched muscles relax. In minutes, he was sleeping.


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N: I return! So… I'm really not a fan of this chapter. I made the decision to go ahead and post it because this story needs to move along, but I am not satisfied. I am, however, pretty excited about the traffic stats on this story. Thank you to everyone who's reading, and extra thank you to anyone who reviews! Don't ever let anyone tell you reviews aren't crack. They are. _

_As always, proceed with caution and I own nothing._

It was around noon when Lassiter looked up from his paperwork; he hadn't read or written a word in at least ten minutes. He pinched the bridge of his nose and wished for more of Spencer's painkillers. Then a noise made him look up, and he saw none other than Spencer give some random officer and high-five and shooty-gun fingers, then blow a kiss at O'Hara, before bounding into the Chief's office and slamming the door. _I guess he's fine… _Lassiter thought, then reconsidered when a worried-looking Guster ran up the stairs, glanced around, and went straight to O'Hara. He asked her a question, she shook her head and pointed at the Chief's door, at which Guster sighed and threw up his hands. He slowly sat down in the chair by O'Hara's desk, and just waved and nodded at some question she asked him.

Lassiter was torn. On the one hand, Guster's obvious concern only confirmed the validity of the worries that had been whispering at the detective all day. Something was wrong with Spencer, and not only had Lassiter failed to notice, he'd found out in the worst way possible. He really wanted to talk to Spencer.

On the other hand, Spencer probably didn't want to talk him. He didn't really blame him.

Suddenly, Lassiter stood. _Fuck it, _he thought. _When he comes out of that office, I'll just pull him off to the side and… well, I guess I'll find out. _He took a few steps toward the office, intending to loiter inconspicuously outside. This plan was abruptly foiled, however, by Guster, who saw Lassiter and stood up, the worry returning to his expression, and walked over to the detective.

"Hi. Lassiter, can we talk?" Guster didn't wait for a reply, just walked through the station to a secluded alcove toward the back. Lassiter followed, glancing back at the chief's office. Spencer hadn't emerged.

Guster seemed to be looking for the right words. He fiddled with the color of his lavender shirt, ran a hand over his head. Lassiter opened his mouth to snap at him to spit it out, but Guster held up a hand. "All right. I just… I need to ask you to keep whatever you saw at the bar last night and this morning to yourself."

_What?_ Lassiter gaped. Guster thought he would tell… someone? Of course he didn't know it was actually Lassiter being dragged home drunk, but still. After all this time Guster didn't trust him? _Which probably means Spencer doesn't trust me either. I bet he sent Guster to ask me to stay quiet. Didn't want to face me himself. Jesus, what did I do?_

Hoping none of these thoughts were visible on his face, Lassiter simply said, "Of course. It's forgotten. But," he added, as Guster sighed in relief, "Can you tell me… Sh-Spencer all right? He's not… dying or something."

"No! No, he's not dying," said Guster, giving a small laugh. "As far as 'all right,' that's a longer answer. And I think Shawn should tell you himself." He turned and started to walk away, but Lassiter grabbed him by the arm.

"Wait a minute. You can't just leave it at that. He's not dying but he's not alright? And you want me to just keep quiet?" Lassiter resisted the urge to grimace. He felt like a colossal asshole, but a day spent worried and exhausted had worn him down and made him reckless. "And, well, I guess… I want to help."

Guster stared at him blankly. Lassiter wasn't surprised; he hadn't been expecting that either. Now that he'd said it, however, he found that he meant it. Every time he allowed his attention to wander, he saw Spencer looking up at him on his doorstep that morning, tears shining in his hazel eyes, clutching himself like he was freezing to death.

"You want to what? You don't even know what's happening, and you're offering to help us? Wait," The simple confusion in Guster's voice was abruptly replaced by suspicion. "You're just looking for a way to prove he's not psychic, aren't you."

"What? No, I didn't even –"

"You think that's what this is about! Damn, Lassie, that is cold."

Lassiter rubbed his face tiredly. "Guster, shut up for a second! I honestly only want to help. I'm not… looking for anything," _You liar, _he thought. "I mean, it's just you handling whatever this is, right? I can't see Henry being too inclined to make special trips to get medication, and clearly no one else even knows."

The look on Guster's face would have been hilarious in any other situation. He looked to be wavering between suspicion and… relief? Finally he sighed, and sat down on the bench next to them. "You're right that no one else knows. Shawn never even told Abigail."

There was another beat of silence, then Guster said firmly, "Ok. Ok, you're right, I do need help. I can't just leave work whenever he needs something, and I really can't keep taking days off." He took a deep breath. "Not that many people can tell the difference between drunk Shawn and danger-to-himself-and-others Shawn. But you apparently can, _and_ you can get him to leave the bar with you and go home. I can't imagine why that is..." He seemed to lose his train of thought, staring at Lassiter as though he held the answer to a difficult, essential question.

Fortunately for him, now that he'd started, Guster seemed unable to stop talking. "Shawn has… well, most of his problems stem from the fact that he has one of the most severe cases of ADHD his doctors have ever seen. Seriously, like three of them have written papers on him. He can't stop moving, and he can't help seeing – and remembering – _literally everything_, so sometimes he overloads. He gets panic attacks, and… he gets really depressed sometimes. It kind of happens in a cycle: he'll slowly start to deteriorate, he'll get restless, angry, pull away from everything, stop eating or sleeping. You were right about Henry, you know," Gus paused and looked down as his hands twisted in his lap. "I think he loves Shawn, but… it's possible to love someone and be completely poisonous to them at the same time."

Lassiter didn't know what to say. As determined as he'd been to get answers, he really hadn't expected this much honesty, and it was making him uncomfortable. _Spencer is depressed? How the hell do I help with this?_ He was about to voice this question when Guster laughed softly and said, "I should really let Shawn fill in the details. He's going to kill me for telling you even this much."

Suddenly, Gus sat up straight on the bench, guilt and alarm on his face as he stared at something behind Lassiter. With dread roaring in his ears as his heart began to pound, Lassiter turned slowly to find Spencer standing a few feet away, eyes moving between Gus and the detective in confusion. He looked even worse than he had that morning, bruise-colored shadows dulling his eyes, his skin pale, and a slight tremor visible in a hand holding a large Styrofoam cup.

Gus stood up and walked toward Spencer, holding his hands out pleadingly. "Shawn! We were just – Lassiter was – he was worried…" He trailed off as Spencer's free hand tightened into a fist and he glared at Gus. Gus continued talking and walking slowly toward him, but Spencer started backing up, still glaring silently at his best friend.

"Shawn, wait," Gus called, but as he spoke, Spencer whirled around, flung the cup away, and ran.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

Gus hated Shawn's panic attacks. They scared the shit out of him. Now, as he tried to make Lassiter understand that fear, he could still feel the helplessness and horror of watching his best friend drown.

Earlier, after Shawn fell asleep curled around Gus like a cat, Gus sat with his arms around Shawn, looking around at the aftermath of his sleepless nights. Shawn had been especially scattered the past few days, easily upset by setbacks, his focus intense but unstable. _He's been having trouble for a while..._ As callous as it made him feel sometimes, Gus had long since stopped feeling guilty about the ease with which Shawn hid how much pain he was in. Gus was still able to pick up on things no one else would notice, and where Shawn was concerned, that was a feat in itself.

After about an hour, Gus had finally risked movement and slid out from under Shawn, leaving him curled up under the blanket. Gus went to the kitchen to try and clean up some of the mess. Cleaning helped him think, and he still hadn't figured out how to get Shawn to take the new medication.

Two hours later, the kitchen was much cleaner, and Gus heard the shower start. He'd been hoping Shawn would sleep the rest of the day, but hadn't really expected it. When he realized, after half an hour, that the shower was still running, he hissed, "Shit!" and ran to the bathroom. The door wasn't even locked, so he barged in, waving a hand to try and see through the steam. The window above the toilet was open.

Gus raced outside, but Shawn's bike was already gone. Guessing his first stop, Gus went to a coffee shop Shawn liked by the station, but the employees told him he'd just missed Shawn. They also let slip that they'd made him a large espresso, and that this was his standing order every time he came in. Shawn had clearly convinced them to keep this a secret, like he always did: he used his extreme charisma to make people do things for him, against their better judgment, and then lie to the one person who could see through all his bullshit and maybe actually help – but getting angry never helped with Shawn.

So Gus waited outside the Chief's office for Shawn to come out, hopefully with a case to keep him busy and get some money flowing into Psych. Maybe then he'd go home and rest.

Juliet, looking worried, asked softly, "Is Shawn ok? He seemed kind of… off."

Gus just nodded and waved his hand, still watching the Chief's door. _Off? Really? He's tailspinning. _When Shawn came out, he was going to tackle him and knock him out if that's what it took to get him home. _And I still haven't called work. _

Movement in his peripheral vision made him look across the station to see Lassiter walking toward the Chief's office. He was muttering to himself and clenching and unclenching his fists. _Shiiiiit… He's about to walk into the Chief's office and tell her about whatever happened last night, and then my dumb ass this morning yelling about medication... _Jumping up, Gus intercepted Lassiter and dragged him away.

He was shocked speechless when, after promising immediately not to tell anyone what he knew, Lassiter offered to help. Sure, the offer came with a veiled threat of blackmail if Gus didn't spill some beans, but _Lassie_ was offering to help _Shawn_. Who could blame him for being suspicious of the detective's motives?

But Lassiter actually seemed sincere. Concerned, even. _What _is_ this?_ Gus thought._ He takes Shawn home, sleeps over, apparently _wasn't_ about to tell the Chief…_ _I had no idea he cared this much, or at all I guess, about Shawn. _Lassiter was biting his lip and shifting back and forth, obviously upset. _This is weird. _Despite his confusion, Gus couldn't deny the relief he felt at having someone else to share the responsibility. So he told Lassiter as much as he could before guilt made him stop. Shawn was going to be furious. He might stop talking to Gus altogether, which could be disastrous while Shawn was so fragile.

_But this can't go on. I can't keep taking care of him all by myself. I'll lose my job or have a breakdown of my own and then what will Shawn do? He is going to kill me…_

As though summoned by his thoughts, Shawn appeared from behind Lassiter, where he had apparently been standing and listening to their conversation. Shock was clear in his wide eyes and open mouth. Feeling a bottomless-pit sensation of guilt, Gus jumped up and started toward Shawn, desperately babbling. _Oh, no… this is all wrong. _The shock on Shawn's face was rapidly replaced by rage, and he started backing away.

"Shawn, wait!"


	5. Chapter 5

_A/N: Well, this was a million times more fun to write than that last chapter. Yay for being past boring expository scenes! Hopefully no more of those. _

_So, I have two different ideas in mind for this story. One wraps things up within a few more chapters, another would take much longer... I'm still not sure which direction I want to go. I will see what the response is like for the next chapter or so. Ok, done rambling! Thanks for reading, and pretty please review! As always, I own nothing and proceed with caution._

Wind roared in Shawn's ears as he sped down the rain-darkened spit of asphalt, winding deeper into the forest. The sky was visible only as a bright grey ribbon over the road, black trunks and slick leaves creating a high, dim tunnel. He tasted the slight tang of salt on the wind and sped even faster, skidding around each tight curve in the road. No matter how fast he went, he couldn't drown out the hammering in his head.

_Gus told. Gus told. Gus told. Lassiter knows what a freak I am. Because my best friend _told_ him. _

Headlights flashed through the trees, and he looked up at the green SUV heading straight for him down the narrow road. The blaring of the horn and flashing of the headlights melded with the chaos in his head and he leaned forward, screaming through clenched teeth as it bore down on him. It swerved away, but the rearview mirror caught his shoulder, throwing him off his bike to roll to a stop on the road. The SUV's taillights were red streaks as it sped away.

… … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … …

Lassiter watched helplessly as Spencer stormed away, Guster running after him and shouting. He was still standing in the alcove a few minutes later when Guster came trudging back.

"Do you still want to help?" The question was simply stated, and Lassiter got the feeling that had he said no, Guster would have accepted it and gone after his friend. _He is _really_ devoted to Spencer_, thought Lassiter, taking an appraising look at the man before him. Guster had been taking care of Spencer for years, apparently completely alone, and here he was about to run after his friend again, just to make sure he was ok.

Lassiter nodded. "Yes. What can I do?"

A slight sag in his shoulders was the only sign that Guster was relieved. "You can drive. I don't know where he's going, but we'll find him faster if I don't have to worry about speeding…" He trailed away tentatively.

"You think it's that urgent?"

A pleading look was his only answer. He nodded, and they walked out of the station together.

They didn't talk much while driving, Guster occupied with giving directions and keeping a constant, anxious watch for Shawn. Lassiter was reluctantly grateful for the silence; though his head was teeming with questions, he was still processing what he'd learned earlier. _I should have been more careful this morning. Of course Spencer would be furious. I'm just making all the right moves, aren't I?_

A coffee shop, a park, a pet store, and the Psych office were all devoid of Spencer's presence. They sat in the car outside Psych, Guster tapping his hands and biting his lips in frustration.

Feeling fear coil in his stomach, Lassiter spoke barely above a whisper. "You don't… think something's happened, do you? He wouldn't do, well, anything stupid, would he?"

This earned him a rather exasperated glare. "Of course I think he'd do something stupid. It's Shawn. I just don't know… what… the cliffs. Lassie, I know where he is!"

_Cliffs? Well, I guess I should have expected something melodramatic… I'm an asshole. _"Where?" he barked.

"There are cliffs overlooking the ocean near here. I made him promise not to go there alone anymore, so I bet that's exactly where he went."

The drive was silent, lush forest gliding past the windows as they sped down the road. When they pulled out of the forest into the small gravel parking lot, they both sighed in relief to see Spencer's bike. Getting out of the car and walking over to the bike, Gus was moving slowly, as though now Spencer had been found he didn't actually want to talk to him. Lassiter was aching to charge up the rocky slope to the cliff, no matter the anger waiting for him – they had no idea what Spencer was doing up there.

A hiss made him turn to see Guster running a hand down the side of the bike and grimacing. Walking over, Lassiter gasped in a small breath to see the long scrapes marring the shiny paint and chrome. It looked like the bike had slid on its side for some distance down asphalt. Lassiter started running up the cliff, but a hand on his elbow made him stop.

"Guster, what – "

"You should let me go first. He's angry with me, but he'll still talk to me; I don't think he'll react well to anyone else right now." With that, Guster walked slowly up the hill. Never had Lassiter seen a man so perfectly illustrate what it would look like if he were walking to his own execution.

Minutes passed, Lassiter pacing and fingering his gun. _I fucked up, I fucked up, what if he's really not all right? What if he and Guster don't recover? Why didn't I just ask him?_ Shouting drifted down to him, one voice higher, cracking, the other slower, deeper, calmer. The voices got louder and louder, then Guster was stalking back down the cliff, without Spencer.

His voice was tight with anger and fear. "We need to get him to a hospital. He crashed the bike; I couldn't tell if he had a concussion or not but I _know_ something is wrong with his shoulder, maybe his ribs."

"And… he won't come." This wasn't a question, but it received the same look as asking if Shawn was going to do something stupid.

Guster looked at the ground. "No. Look, could you try? I'm really sorry… but I need to get him at least home and you got him to listen to you when he was drunk..." He finished with a small, humorless laugh. Shawn's rejection was clearly killing him.

"Yeah, I'll give it a try. I'll be right back." Taking a deep breath, Lassiter walked up the hill. The first thing he noticed was a pair of socks, scattered on the ground next to a pair of tennis shoes. As he reached the top, he saw a barefoot Spencer, who was holding his left arm tightly clenched to his body. Getting closer, Lassiter saw bruises and scrapes all over his face and arms, and dried blood down the side of his head. He was pacing unevenly, stumbling and weaving, and muttering to himself. He shook his head violently, stopping suddenly when he caught sight of Lassiter, standing uncertainly a few feet away.

"What the – the fuck do you want?" This sentence was finished with an unnerving giggle. "Oh, I get it. You think because Gus told you all about what's wrong with me you'll be able to _get through to me_." Sarcasm roughened his voice. He whirled away from Lassiter, resuming his pacing. When one bare foot stepped on the edge of the cliff, Lassiter couldn't help reaching out a hand and taking a few steps forward.

This provoked another glare, but the anger was lost in all the blood and dirt on Spencer's face. Lassiter winced, and said softly, "Sp- Shawn, I'm just –"

"Worried about me?"

"Well, yes, and I'm really sorry about this morning, and last night, and I just-"

"You're sorry about last night?" Spencer whispered. He stopped pacing, arms wrapped around himself, staring at the ocean beneath.

"I – well – yes – I don't, I mean, I acted like-"

"It's ok, Lassie. I'd be a little freaked too. Look, just leave, alright? I have no idea why you think you need to be here, but you don't. I absolve you of all Shawn Spencer-related responsibility." As he spoke, Lassiter crept softly closer, hoping to get within arm's reach before Spencer turned back around.

No such luck. "Dammit, Lassie! God, just give me five minutes to myself here! Just leave me alone…" his voice wavered a little, and he closed his eyes, the hand on his left shoulder tightening to a white-knuckled grip.

_I have to get him away from the edge before he collapses._ Wind flapping his clothing around him, Lassiter stepped tentatively up to stand beside Spencer on the cliff. The ocean crashed below, stretching grey and choppy to the horizon. Glancing at Spencer, Lassiter took in the still-oozing cut on his bottom lip, the bloody scrapes on his cheek and down his arms, and the way his left shoulder bulged slightly under his shirt.

"What happened to you?" Lassiter asked.

Spencer mumbled something, looking away.

"What?"

A sigh. "I said, I hit a car."

"You were hit by a car? Did they stop? Spencer, you should really let me take you to the hospital."

This brought the snarl back to Spencer's voice. "No, I wasn't _hit by a car_, I hit a car. And you and Gus and my dad and everyone _should_ stop telling me what I should do!"

They stood in silence, Spencer breathing raggedly, Lassiter still examining him out of the corner of his eye. He took a deep breath. "Will you at least let me look at your shoulder?"

More heavy silence. _I could not possibly be handling this worse. What the hell was I thinking? Guster couldn't get him to come down, why the hell would he listen to me? I should just leave._

"I'm not going anywhere until you let me take a look at you." he said, surprised at how firm he managed to sound. When it became clear that Spencer wasn't planning on saying anything, Lassiter decided to take this as permission, and slowly put a hand on Spencer's uninjured shoulder.

With a sharp gasp, Spencer stumbled back, green eyes wide. "Don't you _fucking_ touch me!"

_At least I got him away from the edge._ Slowly, Lassiter edged forward, holding his hands out to the man standing, vibrating with tension, glaring at him as he shifted from one foot to the other. A wet breeze swept in from the ocean, dampening Spencer's already-wrecked hair and shining on the pale skin showing through the ripped-away buttons on his shirt.

Lassiter licked salt from his lips."I'm going to look at your shoulder. Dammit, Spencer, hold still, I just want to make sure you're all right!"

"No!" Spencer continued backing away. He was shaking, fist clenched, spitting out the words. "Stop – stop pretending – you don't care –"

"What? No, I – I really do. Please– "

"No, you don't! Just stop, please! You don't have to – I don't need – aah!" Finally losing his footing on the uneven rock, he pitched backward. Lassiter dashed forward, but not in time to catch him before he landed hard on his left shoulder. A strangled moan escaped his clenched teeth as he rolled over and curled up, clutching his shoulder and panting. Taking off his jacket and folding it, Lassiter lifted Spencer's head to put the jacket underneath, getting a hiss of pain out of the other man.

Deciding not to try moving Spencer immediately, Lassiter sat back on his heels. "Why are you barefoot?" he asked suddenly. Spencer's feet were just as filthy and scraped-up as the rest of him. Also, one of his big toes was painted bright orange, but Lassiter let that go for the moment.

He struggled up into a sitting position. "Hate shoes. Wanted to feel the ground," he muttered, staring at his own feet. "Gus did the toenail," he continued in a low monotone. "We were having a prank war. I was asleep but I woke up before he could do any more."

This left Lassiter completely at a loss for words. _They really are children… though maybe not as much as I thought. _He cleared his throat, and said as calmly as he could, "Spencer, that shoulder is clearly in need of medical attention. I am going back to my car to get the first aid kit, and when I get back, I am going to take care of it. Clear?" Spencer looked away, and after a long moment, nodded very slightly. Holding back a sigh of relief, Lassiter stood and walked back down to the parking lot.

Seeing Guster hovering by the bike, Lassiter felt guilt twist his stomach for what seemed like the hundredth time in the past two days. The dullness in Spencer's voice when he'd talked about Guster…

"He's letting me take a look at his shoulder. I'm hoping he'll come down with me when I'm done." Lassiter snatched the first aid kit from the car and started back up the hill, avoiding Guster's eyes.

Spencer hadn't moved when Lassiter got back to the top, though he had stopped shivering. Lassiter set the kit down and knelt by his left side. "Ok, we need to get your arm out of the sleeve." Willing his hands not to shake, Lassiter reached for the collar of Spencer's shirt, drawing it away from his neck and back toward his shoulder – when the cloth tightened around his arm, Spencer hunched away and tightened his grip on his shoulder with a hiss.

"Sorry…" Lassiter sighed. _I can't stop hurting him,_ he thought. "Listen, I can cut the shirt off if you want."

Spencer shook his head emphatically, eyes closed.

"Then, I'm really sorry, but you're going to have to lift your arm."

A deep breath, and then a nod. He took his hand off his shoulder and clenched it at his side.

Wincing, Lassiter reached for Spencer's elbow and, as gently as he could, lifted the elbow away from Spencer's side, pulling the shirt back over the shoulder as he did so. He couldn't hold in a gasp when the sleeve finally slipped down off Spencer's arm. He shoulder was hugely swollen, and bruised black in the front, mottling his neck and back red, purple, and yellow. The shirt fell away to hang from his other shoulder, and he shrugged out of the flapping garment impatiently. In addition to his shoulder, there were bruises and raw scrapes on his back and sides. Lassiter tried not to stare, or to think about how much of Spencer shirtless he'd seen lately.

"You… did this to yourself?" Lassiter asked as he ran his fingertips over the bruise, pulling away when Spencer's jaw muscles jumped. He got out the bandages and began wrapping them around Spencer's still-raised arm. _He has to go to the hospital; he definitely needs x-rays. If I can get him in the car I can just take him there. I wonder if Guster knows about the car… _Finished with the arm, Lassiter watching his own fingers wrapping the bandage around Spencer's shoulder, grimacing with guilt every time his touch provoked a twitch and gasp from Spencer. By the time Lassiter finished, Spencer had begun shaking again, and he was letting out small, breathless whimpers every time Lassiter touched his shoulder.

"There, finished. Are you… I mean… I'm really sorry. Here, take these." The first aid kit also held painkillers and a bottle of water, which Lassiter handed to Spencer. He popped the pills in his mouth and gulped down the water while Lassiter snatched his coat from the ground and shook it out, turning back to Spencer.

He was still sitting on the ground, both hands clutching the bottle of water, whole body shaking, staring at the ground. Lassiter started forward, overwhelmed by the need to wrap Spencer in his arms and hold him until he stopped looking so lost. Stopping himself, he settled for placing a hand under Spencer's right shoulder and drawing him slowly from the ground. Once Spencer was standing, Lassiter draped his jacket over Spencer's bare shoulders, and, deciding that putting an arm around him might be too much, simply pulled him by the sleeve. They walked slowly down the hill, pausing only so Lassiter could scoop up Spencer's shoes and socks from the ground. Spencer remained silent and didn't look up.

When they reached the parking lot, Guster started forward, saying, "Shawn? Shawn, are you ok? I'm sorry, man, come on, just… talk to me…" Spencer ignored his friend, walking straight past him to the car, and getting in the passenger side. Leaning back against the seat, he closed his eyes.

Turning away from the car so Spencer couldn't read his lips, Lassiter said, "We need to take him to the hospital."

Guster nodded, running a hand over his head. "I thought so. Look, the only times I've ever gotten him to go to a hospital, he was unconscious or bleeding out. I know somewhere else we can go, but you have to promise me now that you won't tell anyone."

"What? Guster, what the hell do you mean, 'somewhere else we can go'?"

"Promise. I'll take him there myself if you won't, but you won't get him in a hospital right now."

"Fine. Where are we going?"

"You know Woody the coroner?"


	6. Chapter 6

_A/N Well, this is weird. After posting this chapter yesterday, I read through it and realized I hated it. Like, a lot. So, revised chapter! Nothing important was changed, so you don't have to read it again if you don't want to. But it sucks a lot less now, I hope._

_Thank you so much everyone who reviewed the last chapter! I'm terrible about responding in person, but each one makes me very very happy! And very very inspired. If I keep getting such an awesome response I hope to have the next few chapters up pretty quick. Coming up in those chapters, we have: Lassie comforting Shawn, my horrible, abusive, incarnation of Henry, and will Gus forgive Shawn? Will Shawn forgive Gus? Will Woody be back? Drop me a review and find out sooooooon!_

_I own nothing, proceed at your own risk._

Shawn focused on the swish of rain hitting the car. He blocked out everything else – the grinding pain in his shoulder, the headache that throbbed with every bump in the road, the chill that Lassiter's jacket was doing little to combat. He could feel the stares Lassie and Gus kept shooting him. They'd tried talking to him, a few times, but he kept his eyes closed and listened to the rain. He made the sound into a protective shell and curled up inside it. Maybe if he stayed inside the rain long enough, he'd just dissolve…

Voices poked and prodded at him. _No. Not coming out. Please don't make me… _He didn't even try to stay awake, diving gratefully into the warm arms of fatigue.

Suddenly, a needle of fire plunged into his shoulder, and his eyes flew open.

Gus stood over him, a hand on his arm."…hear me? Shawn? We're at Woody's." Gus' tone was carefully calm, but Shawn could see the worry and hurt in his eyes. _That's because of me… but I trusted you! You were the _only_ one I trusted. And you told. _He blinked wearily, and bit down on the side of his mouth to stop himself from crying. _Why won't they just leave me the hell alone?_

When he heard Gus describing him like a mental patient to Lassie, a howling hole had ripped his chest open. Every interaction, every loaded glance, tore into him further. He didn't know how much longer he could keep it together – any second, the scream lodged in his throat was going to escape.

Somehow, with many gasps of pain and muttered apologies, Gus got him up the familiar wooden steps and onto the porch, where he rang the doorbell. Woody's place was a small brick house on a quiet street just north of downtown Santa Barbara. Seashell wind chimes rang in the breeze, and Woody's riotous garden rustled. Giant tropical flowers waved crazily next to bushes as tall as the house.

Lassiter walked slowly up the steps behind them, and Shawn forced himself not to cringe at the sharp blue stare boring a hole through the back of his skull. Really, he could feel his bones vibrating as the drill bit in, aiming for a spot above his right ear.

Only the fact that he was draped over Gus saved him from falling. He groaned softly as the little strength he'd gathered during the ride drained away entirely, and his knees buckled. _So this is what "splitting headache" means. Just need to sit down somewhere…_ Against his wishes, his eyelids drifted closed, and tremors shook his whole body.

A voice drifted in through the fog. "…to see you, even if it is under these unpleasant circumstances. And Detective Lassiter! What a welcome surprise. Well, come in, all of you; from the looks of him, I'd best get started sooner rather than later." The cheerful voice continued chattering as Shawn felt himself half-carried through a doorway, and he lost the smell of salt and green leaves.

Things happened, indistinctly. He was maneuvered around furniture and people said things and he couldn't feel the wind anymore and somewhere Lassie's jacket had disappeared and his shoulder and head were actually on fire and Gus was sliding away from him, letting him fall… Then another person replaced Gus and wrapped an arm around his waist. This taller, bulkier form took him through another doorway and lowered him onto a smooth, hard surface.

"Shawn? Can you open your eyes for me?"

Woody. He was at Woody's. Sitting on a table in the small back room that the coroner used for storage and, on occasion, patching up damaged, stubborn fake psychics.

_I'm safe here_. Woody never worried, never expected. Was never disappointed when Shawn showed up in need of bandages and somewhere quiet to fall apart. Shawn battled the weariness and, when his eyes finally opened, he was rewarded with a bright smile.

"Ah, hello there. Well, let's take a look at you. Mr. Guster tells me you picked a fight with a car rather than a person this time?" When Shawn didn't respond, Woody nodded and went about examining the cuts and bruises covering Shawn's back.

"Did I tell you I believe I've found the perfect pineapple upside-down cake recipe?" Woody didn't wait for a response from his patient, just kept cleaning the abraded skin with an alcohol swab. "The secret is molasses rather than brown sugar. I know, I was skeptical too – hold that, would you?"

Shawn obligingly held the gauze over a particularly deep cut on his ribs.

"There. Anyway, I got this tip from a gardening buddy, who used to make her own molasses. Or so she said, she was about 90 and had been diagnosed as a schizophrenic, but I tried it, and it works! Maybe in a few days when you're feeling better you can come give me your opinion, as a _connoisseur of pineapple, yes?"_

Shawn closed his eyes and relaxed, for once feeling no pressure to talk, and let Woody work. Outside, Gus and Lassie were waiting, and eventually he'd have to talk to them. _I'll have to _explain_ myself,_ he thought bitterly. 

Lost in thought, Shawn gave a startled yelp when fingers probed the exact spot on his head where it felt like his skull had cracked open.

Wood grimaced apologetically as he continued to investigate Shawn's head with latex-gloved fingers. "Sorry, kiddo. Almost done up here. Doesn't look like a concussion, luckily for you, just a bad bruise and some minor lacerations. Looks like it's even done bleeding." As he spoke, he used an alcohol swab to wipe away some of the blood from the side of Shawn's face and hair. Shawn bit his lip hard to stop himself making any more noise. The heavy metallic taste of blood flooded his mouth, and he looked at the floor to hide the tears threatening.

"Woah, woah, easy kid. It's ok. Don't pull that cut open anymore, though, I think it might need a stitch as it is." Woody turned away for a minute to rummage in a small freezer, and turned back with a small icepack in his hand. "You feel up to holding this on your head for a few minutes?"

_Just breathe. _There was a weird grey fuzz around the edges of his vision. It pulsed in time with his heartbeat.

"Shawn? You in there? Ok, we'll save the icepack for later." Shawn looked down at the floor, but a second later, cool, firm hands touched his face, and he looked up again. The coroner was examining the freshly-bleeding cut on Shawn's lip. "You know what?" He grinned. "I think this will be fine without a stitch. However, we should start you on antibiotics, just in case," he turned and pulled out a small bottle from a drawer, and handed Shawn a pill, then a bottle of water.

Without even looking at the pill, Shawn gulped it down.

Pills. _Gus. Wait…_ he thought desperately as the grey fuzz suddenly enveloped him. _That wasn't an antibiotic… _

Through the marbles suddenly filling his mouth, Shawn mumbled, "Wait… don't… m'not going…"

"It's ok, kid. Just relax. You're going to be fine, I just want to take a look at that shoulder, and you need the rest anyway." A hand caught his nodding head and lowered him to lie on his back on the table. An inexorable tingling was numbing him from the feet and fingers in.

No matter how hard he tried, his eyes wouldn't open. "No, it's… Gus… please don't… not going with him…" The last of his willpower slipped away and he sobbed quietly, feeling hot tears roll down his face. "I'm sorry," he managed to whisper, before darkness dragged him under.

… … …

… … …

Shawn was floating, weightless, and finally alone.

Maybe not entirely alone. Faint voices were coming from somewhere, but he saw no reason to investigate. Unfortunately, the voices were becoming clearer without any effort on his part.

"…can't believe this! I searched all day for him! I brought him here! What do you expect me to do now?"

"Mr. Guster, please calm down. We're all just trying to do what's best for Shawn. It's not clear what he was trying to say, but I think we should wait until he's awake again before making any decisions." Woody, calm and reasonable as ever.

"Dammit, I'm his best friend! Why wouldn't he want to go home with me?"

Shawn groaned as he struggled into a sitting position. The voices were eating holes in the warm fog surrounding him. He had to go make them stop fighting, if only so he could go back to sleep. How did he keep waking up even more tired than he had been? As the pleasant haze faded from his mind, pain snapped at him again. His shoulder and head were again assaulted by burning needles, and the bruises and scrapes all over his body cried their own separate pleas for his attention.

A wave of dizziness made him gasp and lower his head into his hands – hand? As he sat with his feet dangling over the side of the table, he poked with his free right hand at the new bandages wrapping around his shoulder, as well as the sling that bound his left arm tightly across his chest. _At least I didn't wake up in a hospital… thank you, Woody._

The dizziness receded enough for him to gingerly slide off the table and try standing. Slowly, holding onto cabinets and the wall for support, he made his way to the door, where he rested, holding onto the doorframe and breathing heavily.

"What? You didn't seem to mind when you were begging me for a ride." Lassie's voice had an edge to it, making Shawn hesitate before starting the journey through the living room to the kitchen where the voices were coming from. It was taking a really long time… His feet didn't always seem to work; occasionally stumbling over themselves and nearly sending him crashing to the floor. He clutched the wall and whatever furniture he could reach for support, and managed to stay upright. After what felt like months, he finally reached the kitchen, and slumped breathless in the doorway, holding onto the frame with a white-knuckled grip.

Gus and Lassie were sitting at the kitchen table, while Woody stood by the counter holding a coffee pot. "Shawn!" Two voices started talking at once, yelling, babbling about are you ok you should sit down what happened tell me talk to me… Gus and Lassie advanced on him slowly, and had he not been afraid to let go of the doorframe, he would have started backing up.

"Guys. One at… at a time, ok?" he rasped, but they didn't seem to hear him, continuing their bombardment of questions. The dizziness was worse than ever. Closing his eyes, he rested his head on the doorframe and tried to breathe.

Finally, Woody rescued him. The questions ceased and he was led by a gentle hand on his back to a seat at the table, where he rested his head on his arm.

After a minute, Woody spoke. "Shawn? Can you hear me? I know you're tired, but you can't go to sleep just yet. I think for a the time being it's best if you aren't left alone. Now, where would you like to go?"

_Best if you aren't left alone_. Best if we can keep an eye on you. Best if you have no privacy. The lump in his throat was back.

Gus spoke tentatively. "Shawn – "

"No."

"I just – I know you're pissed at me, but –"

"No."

"You have to come home with me! I know you're not going to your dad's – "

"No! Just…" he trailed off. _Where am I going to go? They're not going to leave me alone, and I can't be alone with Gus right now. I just can't… _A familiar tightness squeezed his chest and he gulped down air, trying to think of something to say that would make them all just go away.

"Spencer?"

Lassie? He'd been so quiet, Shawn kept forgetting he was there. Why was he still there? _What does he want from me?_

"Um, Spencer? You can… come home with me… I guess."

Shawn looked up into uncertain blue eyes. _What? First he's sorry for kissing me, now he wants me to come home with him? _Then he saw the shame in the glance Lassie threw at Gus, the way Gus crossed his arms and hunched his broad shoulders, refusing to look at Lassie…

_Oh, I get it. Lassie feels guilty. Wow, on any other day I would have had so much fun with this. _"Lass," He winced at how weak his voice sounded. Clearing his throat, he tried again. "Lassie… I meant what I said. You don't have to be here. You're not responsible for… any of this."

"Oh, and I am? You are so selfish! I dropped everything to make sure you were alright today! Like I always do!" Gus was leaning over him, hands planted on the table. His brown eyes smoldered with anger.

"No – wait," Shawn stammered.

"Dammit, Shawn, you can't expect me to do everything! I needed help!"

"I don't ex –" How had this gotten out of control so fast? _I was going to try to calm him down… _

"Lassiter was worried about you! Everyone is worried! You can't keep pretending you're all right forever, you know,"

"I'm not –"

"And I can't take care of you forever. Maybe you should go home with Lassie."

"Gus – "

"No, Shawn. I'm done. I am out. Lassiter, I'll be in the car." Gus stormed out of the kitchen and Shawn heard the front door slam. He sat in stunned silence, Gus' words echoing in his head. _Can't take care of you forever. Shit._ He tried to think of something to say, to fix this, to make Gus laugh and stop taking everything so seriously… but the words wouldn't come. Gus was gone, and he was alone.

He was so tired. Everything hurt. His eyelids hurt, so he closed them. Just sitting up was a monumental effort, so he lowered his head to the table. He didn't care anymore.

People moved around him. Woody chattered, Lassie rumbled. A blanket was draped over his shoulders, and then hands were lifting him, pulling him to his feet. Long arms wrapped around his waist and, very gently, around his chest, guiding him back through the living room, and to the door. He breathed in the smell of pine and gunpowder, finding it oddly comforting.

At the door, Lassie stopped, and Woody's voice said, over paper rustling and what sounded like pills rattling in bottles, "Here, detective. I put together some things you might need. My cell number is in there as well. And as for you, my favorite patient, well, my only patient with a pulse," Woody stopped to chuckle at his own joke. "Get some rest. Don't dwell too much on Mr. Guster. You'll have your chance to get him back."

Shawn felt something tucked into his hand. He cracked an eye, saw a bright yellow, pineapple-shaped sucker, and felt a smile tug at his lips.

Woody grinned crookedly at him. "You're welcome," he said, as Lassie nodded at the coroner and helped Shawn out the door and into the car.


	7. Chapter 7

_A/N: I'm baaaaack! Supermassive thank you's to everyone, your reviews, encouragement, alerts, faves, and general awesomeness were… well, awesome! (I consider myself a writer. Isn't that sad?) _

_Oh, something I'm not sure is clear: I know the scene I jumped off of for this little tale was season one or something, but assume this is post-season five. Only Shawn and Juliet never got together. Alright then: keep in mind the rating, possible spoilers for all seasons, and only the plot (or lack thereof) belongs to me. _

Lassiter stared at the sleeping man next to him as he sat on the edge of his bed. Spencer had fallen asleep in the car and refused to wake up, for which Lassiter was grateful. When they got to Guster's place, he'd snapped at Lassiter to wait, dashed up the stairs, and come back a moment later with a duffel bag full of Shawn's clothes. He'd then walked away in the middle of Lassiter's stumbled half-thanks, half-apology. After that, though, the ride had actually been kind of peaceful.

Peace. That was the word for this feeling, maybe. He couldn't stop himself stroking the hair back from Spencer's face, resting his hand a moment on the bandages which were the only thing covering his chest.

_I need to be careful. _

Now, Spencer was sprawled on top of the covers, chest rising with each soft snore. Lassiter couldn't look away from the lines of firm stomach muscles and long fingers twitching on the blanket. It wasn't often he got the chance to observe; it was dangerous to attract the attention of an alert Spencer. Alert Spencer picked up on sweaty palms and pounding hearts, and responded with heart-melting smiles and invasive physical contact. Like sitting on people's laps. Or falling against them _just right_ so they slid down your front, trailing a hand down the buttons on your shirt…

_Jesus. He's passed out from exhaustion and all I can think about is getting in his pants. Why the hell can't I control myself around him lately?_

_Because normally when you want to grab him and kiss him senseless, you yell and throw him into a wall._

_What is wrong with me?_

Spencer shifted slightly and mumbled.

_Aren't people supposed to look younger when they sleep? _Spencer looked every day of his thirty-some years, and not only due to the shadows under his eyes and the two days of stubble. The spastic energy that normally crackled around him was gone, leaving only calm. As quietly as he could, Lassiter backed out of the room, leaving the door open a crack.

He was heading to the kitchen to do paperwork, having no intention of leaving Spencer alone in his apartment, when his phone vibrated in his pocket. "Shit," he hissed when he saw who it was.

"Carlton, where are you? I have been trying to reach you all day, there's a body down at the marina and I had to tell the Chief you were out following leads on the Pastrone Bakery robberies, but I don't really think she believed me and now I have all these cannoli on my desk and– "

"O'Hara, shut up for a second!" Lassiter pinched the bridge of his nose. "Wait, what? Cannoli?"

There was a large sigh. "Yeah, Fred Pastrone sent them. Like, a hundred of them. To say thanks for finding whoever robbed him. Which we haven't done yet, because you haven't been here and I've been dealing with a murder all day! Now stop changing the subject, where are you? And where are Shawn and Gus, I would have thought they'd at least be all over the Pastrone robberies. Normally you can't even think about food without them knowing."

She'd seen him leave with Guster; he'd have to tell her some of the truth. "I'm… just at home. Spencer's bike broke down in the middle of nowhere, and those two somehow convinced me to go get his ass… anyway, I just got back, so I think I'm just going to do paperwork here for the rest of the day. Thanks for covering for me with the Chief by the way, I'll make sure to be convincing when I talk to her."

Silence on the other end of the line. Then another loud sigh. He smiled. That was her God-Carlton-is-so-annoying-but-I'm-a-nice-person-so-I'm-going-to-help sigh. "Fine. But you owe me. And I'm not promising to save any of these cannoli for you." With that, she hung up.

_Well, that was much easier than expected_.

With a relieved sigh, Lassiter sat down at his kitchen table and opened a file. Thank god for police work. At least one thing he knew he could do, and do well.

He was very productive that afternoon. And if he got up to check on Spencer every twenty minutes until he finally fell asleep on the couch, no one would ever know.

... ... ... ... ... ...

The next morning, Lassiter woke with a start at precisely seven o-clock. For a minute, he had no idea why he was on his own couch, or why he was so relieved it was Saturday. Then, the events of the past couple days hit him again and he silently covered his face with his hands, grimacing. Shaking his head, he went to check on Spencer, who was now curled in a ball, free arm clutching a pillow to his stomach.

A shower and clean clothes did nothing to reduce the panic that welled up in Lassiter's stomach every time he thought about what he'd done. Several times, he nearly called Guster, or Woody, to beg them to take Spencer off his hands, but something stopped him every time. He wasn't sure if it was guilt or the infinitesimally small bit of hope that he hadn't ruined his chances entirely, but it was enough. To give himself something to do, he started on breakfast.

"Um… morning." Lassiter turned from the stove to see Spencer standing in the doorway, rubbing his eyes. His hair was stiff with dirt, and though the shadows under his eyes were diminished, he was still pale, letting the cuts on his face and torso blare guilt at Lassiter. He sat down at the table and looked around the kitchen, hand tapping the table in a rhythm Lassiter recognized but couldn't quite place.

Woody's voice was chattering in Lassiter's brain. _Hairline fractures to the collarbone, some minor lacerations on the head, dangerous level of fatigue, emotional state extremely fragile if experience is anything to go by. Handle with care. _

"Morning," Lassiter finally managed to say. "Um… did you sleep alright?"

He received a blank stare in response; the tapping lost its rhythm and became spasmodic. Spencer looked down at the table.

What had Guster said? Depression, mental overload, panic attacks. _Handle with care._

"Why am I here?" Spencer whispered.

Say something, anything other than _you're not all right and I can't stand it and I think I might be in love with you_. "I… want to help. I know I screwed a lot of things up in the past couple days… I'm sorry."

With a loud groan, Spencer dropped his head onto the table and covered it with his free arm.

"Spencer? What's wrong?"

This prompted a muffled giggle. "Lassie. I don't even… you hit the nail on the head, buddy. I mean…" He started laughing again, and didn't stop. Completely at a loss, Lassiter just stared as the laughter got louder and his shoulders began to shake.

When the laughter roughened, tilting toward sobs, Lassiter put down his spatula and pulled a chair around the table to Spencer's side. Spencer's hand fisted in his own hair as the crying got louder and he curled in on himself. Lassiter couldn't take it anymore; he reached out and slowly pulled Spencer's arm away from his face, inwardly wincing at the sight of bloodshot hazel eyes and trembling lips.

"Sp- Shawn? Um… I'm sorry," Lassiter said, as Spencer's breath hitched and he pressed his lips together on another sob.

A shake of the head and a weak tug on the arm Lassiter was still holding were his only answer.

He sighed and released the arm, but didn't move away. "Listen, Spencer… I know this is weird… And I know you probably hate me, well, I'd hate me, but… I want you to know…"

"Stop." He barely heard the tiny whisper over the pounding of his own heart. "Stop, please …" Spencer's hand dragged over his eyes, scrubbing at the tears. "I shouldn't have… you shouldn't be anywhere near me, I know you don't want to be, just… the other night, I… oh, fuck it."

Unable to move, Lassiter tried to find words to stop the fresh wave of tears, to take away the dullness in Spencer's voice. _Do something!_

"Just forget it, Lassie. I'll go home; you don't need to worry about me." Hand now gripping the table, Spencer pushed himself out of the chair, wobbling and closing his eyes once he was upright. Finally, Lassiter knew what to do.

He caught Spencer as he wobbled again, wrapping an arm around his waist and guiding him into the living room. The feel of warm skin under his hand, however, he found much more difficult to ignore. He told himself he imagined the gasp and slight flush on Spencer's neck when his fingertips stroked a path down the hollow of a hip bone as he tightened his hold.

"Sit." He deposited Spencer on the couch and pulled a blanket over him, avoiding the hazel stare monitoring his movements.

Back to the kitchen to flip the omelet, thankfully, it hadn't burned. As he slid it onto a plate, he took a deep breath, mastering the urge of a moment ago to just tell Spencer everything.

_Handle with care, you idiot. He doesn't need your baggage right now. _

Walking back into the living room, Lassiter winced. The man sitting on his couch was barely recognizable as the person who'd lodged himself firmly under Lassiter's skin from the moment he sat down in an interrogation room and read everyone around him like an open book.

Spencer was pulling at a loose thread in the blanket, one foot jittering, and staring blankly into space. Spencer was never blank. He was irritating, obnoxious, brilliant… never blank.

No response when Lassiter sat down on the couch next to him. Nor when he set the plate down on Spencer's lap. Lassiter reached over and covered the twitching hand with his own.

"All I was going to say," he stopped when Spencer met his gaze, struck again by the awful dullness in his eyes. "I was just going to say that… I care about you. And I know this is weird, but I just want to help. That's all."

Finally, Spencer's face registered something other than blankness. His eyes widened, and he leaned closer, studying Lassiter's face the way he looked at crime scenes. After a moment, he seemed to come to some decision.

He closed his eyes and pressed his lips to a very shocked detective's.

They stayed frozen for a fraction of a second, then Spencer pressed closer, opening his mouth, as Lassiter cupped Spencer's face. He couldn't think, couldn't breathe, it was everything he'd been guiltily fantasizing about for years, Spencer – _Shawn_ – tasted like citrus and he was stroking the roof of Lassiter's mouth with his tongue, drawing the softest of moans from the detective.

No. Wait. Wrong. _He was in hysterics five minutes ago. Not like this. _Inwardly screaming at himself to stop _thinking_ so much about everything, Lassiter pulled away. The look of absolute devastation on Shawn's face almost made him burst into tears of his own. He closed his eyes and swallowed hard, then opened them again and reached for Shawn, desperate to mitigate the damage he was sure he'd just done.

As he wrapped his hand around the back of Shawn's neck, he said quietly, "Spencer?" No response. "Shawn? Please look at me." He rubbed his thumb over the soft hairs on the nape of Shawn's neck.

Sighing, Shawn leaned back into his hand, then pulled himself back upright with a visible effort. In a small voice, he said, "It's ok, Lassie. I already knew you hated me, I guess I just got… confused." He rubbed his chest and grimaced. When he spoke again his voice was raspy with suppressed tears. "Can we just stop, now? I don't think I can – "

"Sweet Lady Justice, Shawn, I don't hate you. You think I would have done any of this if I hated you? And it's not… not that I object, at all, to, well, what just happened, I just think, maybe, we should wait until you're feeling better, or…" Slowly, as he babbled, Shawn leaned back again, as his eyelids fluttered. Lassiter lowered the heavy head back onto the couch, and set the plate to the side.

Shawn's eyes never left his face, though he was having trouble keeping them open. "You don't hate me." Came the soft whisper.

Lassiter shook his head. "No."

"You said I ruined your life…"

"I was very, very drunk when I said that. And if you remember, I also… um…"

A smile so small it might have been imaginary twitched across Spencer's face. "Yeah, I remember. Didn't know if you… wanted to, I guess."

"No, as memories go, it's one of my better ones."

Something like the tranquility he'd felt watching Shawn sleep crept into the room as they sat searching each other's faces. Deciding the rest of the conversation could wait, Lassiter picked up the plate with the omelet and fork on it and held it out, receiving a definitely-real smile in return. When the hand that took hold of the plate began trembling not a second later, Lassiter took it back and set it on his own lap.

"Dude," said Shawn when he held out the fork with a piece of omelet on it. "You are not feeding me."

"Wasn't planning on it. Just trying to help," replied Lassiter, reversing the fork so the handle faced Spencer.

With a grateful smile, Shawn took the fork and slowly ate. "Mmph… thish ish actshually pretty good, Lashie," he said, handing the fork back.

The rest of the day passed quietly. Shawn took a shower, then whined enough to reassure Lassiter that he was feeling better while the bandages around his still massively-swollen shoulder were re-wrapped. Despite all the whining, he flatly refused to take anything for his shoulder, and the way he looked at the pills when Lassiter offered them, like they were about to jump out of Lassiter's hand and bite him, was hard to argue with. Lassiter didn't even bring up the other medications in the little bag.

So Lassiter parked him back on the couch, where he alternated between napping and watching TV, and eating with gusto any food placed in front of him. "Lassie, I had no idea you could cook! What other signs of life are you hiding? Do you paint? Ooh, no, I got it. Theater! You're clearly a theater fan. Probably musical theater."

Lassiter caught himself grinning like an idiot several times as he cooked, but he told himself it was simply because he didn't often get the chance to show off his culinary prowess.

As afternoon wore into evening, however, Lassiter began to worry. The constant, random commentary on whatever was on the TV ceased, and Shawn didn't even seem to be watching. Head bowed, knees pulled up to his chest, he sat on the couch in the wavering light of the TV and stared at a point on the wall. Every now and then, he would tug on the arm trapped by the bandages on his chest, and look down at it like he'd forgotten it was there. As Lassiter passed through the room, he glanced at Shawn, taking in the crease between his eyebrows and the tight line of his mouth.

He opened his mouth, to say what he had no idea, just to get Shawn talking again, but was cut off by a low monotone.

"M'not hungry anymore, Lassie."

"That's ok," said Lassiter, slowly sitting down on the other end of the couch. "How's the shoulder?"

A shrug, followed by a wince. "Hurts when I move. Wish I could take this off though…" He wiggled the arm taped across his chest, shooting it an irritated glance.

Finding the right words had never been one of Lassiter's strengths. He wasn't good at delicate, that was what he had O'Hara for. "How… are you feeling?"

"Umm…" There was a definite hint of fear in the look Shawn shot him from the corner of his eye. "I'm, um. My head's kind of funny… Hey, Lassie, how about we go to the station, see how Jules is doing?"

"Wh- no, I don't think that's a good idea right now. What do you mean your head's kind of funny?"

More fear. Where was this coming from? Shawn wouldn't even meet his eyes, just shook his head emphatically and went back to staring at the wall. "Nothing, it's fine, just a little bored, hey! Are you working on a case? Can I help?" he babbled, pushing himself off the couch.

Lassiter jumped up in time to steady Shawn's shoulders as he listed to the side, but was shrugged off. "I'm not working on anything at the moment, why don't you sit back down? You're bored? I have books, or, um…" Shawn wasn't listening.

_How do I entertain a genius? _He'd had time to think as he cared for Shawn all day, and he'd realized that was exactly what Shawn was: a genius, able to see things and make connections no one else was capable of. He'd also realized, with a start that nearly made him drop the carton of milk he'd been holding, that Guster had essentially given away Shawn's secret. _He sees everything_.

A few years ago, he would have taken this straight to the Chief. He would have shouted it to the whole department; Spencer's not a psychic, he's just got an eidetic memory and he's smarter than the rest of us combined! Good news!

Now, as he hovered, watching warily for signs of collapse, all he could think was how out of his depth he was. And how badly he wanted to kiss this ridiculous genius, again, without all this _context_ hovering around.

_First you have to stop him running into the street._

Shawn was practically vibrating. "Books, Lassie? Really? Maybe when we're done reading, we can play bridge! Or do some knitting! God, could you be any more stuffy?" He started pacing, not in circles, a rapid wander all over the room.

Stuffy. _Old. Boring. Repressed. _Victoria had liked to call him that when she got really upset, knowing how much it hurt him. Most of the time he was able to pretend he didn't have feelings, just focus on the job at hand. Hearing the old insult come out of Shawn's mouth, and after he thought they understood each other… He clenched his jaw and swallowed the urge to lash out. "Fine. What would you like to do?"

Shawn looked up from the magazines he was flipping through and throwing on the floor. "Do? I don't know, _leave_ your ridiculously un-decorated apartment? What am I, a prisoner? Did Gus tell you to keep me here until I go crazy to punish me?" By the time he finished, he was picking at the edge of a bandage, ripping pieces off with increasing desperation.

"What? No, Spencer, stop," Lassiter grabbed Shawn's hand, pulling it away from the bandages. Up close, he could see how wide his eyes were, how fast his breathing was, and the hand he was holding was shaking slightly.

_He doesn't mean it. He's having a breakdown._

_Of course he means it._

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Lassiter told his inner monologue to shut the hell up. "No, you are not a prisoner," Lassiter said slowly, looking into Shawn's eyes. "But you're still very tired, and I don't want to… um. How about," he said quickly, when a spark of anger flashed in Shawn's face, "I call Woody? We'll see what he suggests, ok?"

"Fine," Shawn snapped, wriggling out of Lassiter's grasp and resuming his wander. "Tell him it feels like I'm wearing a straightjacket! I thought he was cool!"

Reluctantly, Lassiter went to the kitchen to get his phone. As he waited for Woody to pick up, he heard a soft gasp. Taking the phone away from his ear, he listened.

Again. A gasp, followed by a quiet whimper. He tossed the phone away and dashed back into the living room.

Shawn was leaning against the wall, ripping desperately at the bandages pinning his arm to his chest. His whole body was shaking, and Lassiter could hear his wheezing breath from across the room. In seconds, he was at Shawn's side, wrapping his arms around the hunched shoulders, trying to stop the violent tremors running through Shawn's body.

"Lassie – help – can't get out –" He shot a look of pure terror and pleading at Lassiter, who did the only thing he could – he held Shawn tighter as Shawn's knees gave out, and they slid to the floor together.

Still muttering, Shawn kept tearing at the bandages. Lassiter grabbed his hand, and Shawn gripped it hard. His chest was heaving as he hyperventilated, gasping in rapid, shallow breaths. Tears poured from his wide eyes, and he stared up at Lassiter like he was waiting for the detective to don a cape and slay the monster.

"Please – can't breathe – " With a loud moan, he grabbed his chest and curled into a tight ball, spasms wracking his body. He turned his head so his face was buried in Lassiter's chest, whimpering between gritted teeth. "Lassie – hurts – make it – stop – "

"Ssh, it's ok, I've got you, just try to relax," Lassiter whispered as he rubbed Shawn's back. He had never felt so helpless in his life. Tears dripped onto his collarbone and soaked into his shirt as the man huddled in his arms continued to shake violently.

"Hurts – it hurts – please – m'sorry – "

Lassiter bit his lip, then just started talking, unable to do anything else. "I'm here, it's ok, it'll be over soon," he breathed into the thick auburn hair.

But it wasn't. Shawn's breathing wouldn't calm down, kept getting faster and faster, he was desperate for air. His mouth kept forming the words _I'm sorry, I'm sorry_, but no sound except high-pitched wheezing was coming out anymore.

"It's ok, it's ok, I promise," soothed Lassiter, squeezing the back of Shawn's neck. "Just breathe."

His breath caught, and didn't start again, so Lassiter quickly lowered him to lie on the floor. The panic in his face started to slip away as his eyes fluttered and weak, shaking hands gripped Lassiter's arms, the meaning in the action clear: _Don't leave me_.

"I'm not going anywhere, I'm right here. Just breathe, it's ok."

As his back arched, he squeezed his eyes shut, hands falling away from Lassiter. His desperate gasps for air kept catching in his throat, and after a few more seconds of struggle, he passed out with a long sigh, head lolling back on Lassiter's arm.

Lassiter sat in his now-silent apartment, staring around at what he had to admit were extremely bare walls. Grey walls, cream carpet, navy furniture… Shawn's bright yellow sweatpants were the only bit of color in the room. He stood slowly, and carried Shawn back to the couch, then went to find his phone. It was definitely time to ask for some advice.

... ... ... ... ...

"My God," said Woody. "This is one of the most severe episodes I believe he's ever had. Why, the last time the panic attacks were this frequent was just after that madman Yang was caught."

"What? He was having panic attacks after Yang? I… I had no idea…" said Lassiter. He sat down at the table, where he could keep an eye on the figure on the couch.

"Well, of course you didn't, my good detective. Mr. Guster and I have always expended the utmost effort to help Shawn keep his psychological difficulties a secret, as per his wishes. Which brings me to another point – how exactly did you become involved? I always expected Detective O'Hara would be the one to crack the vault of secrets."

"Vault of – ? Nevermind. Um, well, I was… in a position to overhear Guster trying to get Sh-Spencer to take his meds, and I guess Spencer was… very upset about that, and I offered my services to Guster to try and help in, um, whatever… capacity I could."

Woody hummed, and Shawn kicked a foot off the bed. "Well, that does explain why Mr. Guster was so upset. It's always been very important to Shawn that no one know the extent of his issues; I believe he felt it would alienate people, make them think he was a freak."

"But… I mean, he acts crazy half the time anyway!" Lassiter said as he got up to check Shawn was still asleep. As he sat back down, he continued, "He takes insane risks, he has no regard for rules, and the psychic thing… I mean, if he's trying to appear normal, I think he's missed the mark a bit."

Woody sighed, and said, with the air of someone who's tired of repeating themselves, "Normal is a continuum, detective, not a binary. Someone with Shawn's… _extreme_ mental capacity will never be able to act exactly like the rest of us, nor, in fact, would it be healthy for them to try."

_So very out of my depth_.

Lassiter sighed. "Ok, I guess... Look, I really called because I don't know what to do here. I don't know what sets him off, I don't know how to help him… I think I might be making it worse."

This received a chuckle, "Detective, I know you've had your differences, but I highly doubt that your mere presence is exacerbating things unduly. However, if you're feeling overwhelmed, of course I want to help. Shawn can be rather overwhelming even at his most stable. One question, have you administered any of the medication I sent with you?

Lassiter grimaced. "No, I haven't. I didn't know…"

"Well, quite right you didn't. And, while this is only my personal opinion, I'm not sure that medication is really the best option for his psychological state. I know Mr. Guster puts a great deal of faith in it, due no doubt to his occupation, be we're not dealing with a dangerous personality or anything so straightforward. It is possible for Shawn to achieve a sort of balance on his own, given the right conditions. Hm…" he paused, and then continued, "I wonder if Mr. Guster has had time to calm down a bit. I've never known those two to stay angry with each other for very long, and I'm quite certain it would help Shawn to talk to him. I will see if he wouldn't mind dropping in on you two in the next day or so, as he's really your most valuable resource when it comes to the day-to-day management of the situation. Does that sound acceptable?"

Lassiter could hear Shawn shifting on the couch. "Sure, yeah, sounds good. Thanks, Woody." He hung up and went to the living room.

Shawn was sitting up and blinking, slowly, looking around the room like he'd never seen it before. He rubbed his eyes and scrubbed a hand through his hair, stopping when Lassiter walked over.

"Um. Hey." He muttered.

"Hey," said Lassiter, sitting down beside Shawn. "So… want to talk about it… or something?"

_A/N: God, I'm a terrible person. I'm so sorry. I promise they'll do more than kiss briefly and then freak out about it eventually! Also, I saw someone said in a review that the change in perspective was confusing at times – would anyone like me to specify whose perspective it is when it changes? Not telling my audience things because I forget you don't know everything I do is kind of a chronic problem for me. So if you're confused, by this or anything else, let me know! I really appreciate it. _

_Anyways, it's still a bit crazy in my little corner of the world, but in a totally cool way now! So hopefully no more months-long waits between updates, but they probably (definitely) won't be every other day, either. The good part about that is I'll probably edit more, which means this story will kick twice as much ass! Hopefully. Ok, that's all from me. Remember to tell me what you think, please!_


	8. Chapter 8

Shawn sighed. He really, really hated that question. He was also still really, really tired, and the grin he tried to summon died before he could make it convincing. Traitorous facial expressions. Lassiter just kept standing there, shifting from foot to foot, staring at him like he might explode or…

"Lassie, are you wearing _jeans?_" And there it was. Distraction-mode Shawn, just needed a minute. The fact that the jeans in question did an excellent job of clinging to the hips and very long legs of a certain Head Detective probably helped too.

_Wonder where trying (unsuccessfully) to Hulk your way out of your sling before passing out ranks on the hotness scale. Probably not high. Five years of obnoxious flirting wasted._

"Yes, Spencer, I am wearing jeans. I've been wearing them all day. I wear clothing other than suits. Hilarious." Lassiter stopped shifting and set his jaw. "I talked to Woody. He's going to see if Guster can come by tomorrow."

"…Awesome."

Lassiter heaved a sigh and rubbed his eyes, then walked through the living room and down the hall. He came back a second later holding a white plastic box and a bunch of cords under his arm.

"Lassiter? What… is that a Wii?" Shawn sat up on his knees. Lassiter knelt in front of the TV and started plugging things in, which made his shirt stretch distractingly over the muscles in his shoulders and back.

"Yeah." There was even less emotion than usual in Lassiter's voice. "I got it for O'Hara's nephews a few years ago, but when they left after the holidays O'Hara said they didn't need it anymore. I never use it, so I forgot I had it."

He stood up and walked away again, then came back with a cardboard box, which he set on the seat next to Shawn. His expression was cool, his eyes looking everywhere but Shawn's face. After a moment of staring up at him, Shawn looked in the box. It held two controllers and a few games.

_Not gonna cry. Not ten minutes after waking up from a panic attack. _

Shawn swallowed around the lump in his throat and was very proud when his voice was only a little quiet, rather than shaking like a teenager's. "Wow. Thanks, Lassiter, um…"

"You're welcome. I'm going to take a shower."

Staring at Lassiter's retreating form, Shawn ran a hand over his hair then scrubbed his head furiously with both hands.

_What the hell just happened? He can't have been that freaked out by me, well, freaking out; he didn't seem that bothered on the cliff. Or at Woody's._

Shawn stood and paced slowly around the room. The thin glow of streetlamps and passing headlights through the blinds made stripes on the walls and over the carpet. He picked up a pen from the table next to the couch and chewed it as the sound of running water drifted faintly into the room. With a soft sigh, he flopped onto his back in the middle of the floor.

_Really though, who has a place this boring? No pictures, not even the perp-wall. It's like every horror-story stereotype of an office cubicle…_

Suddenly, Shawn sat up, the pen falling from his mouth. Boring. _Stuffy. _He'd called Lassiter stuffy and told him he wanted to leave. He smacked a hand across his eyes and mentally kicked himself. He could practically hear his Dad telling him, "Smooth move, kid."

_No. Know what, fuck this. I should have just kissed him right there in the bar. What the hell was I thinking, _don't _follow your instincts? When has that ever worked for me? Am I turning into Gus? _

The sound of running water stopped. Shawn got up and strode to the bathroom door, ignoring the way his heart was pounding. Without giving himself time to think, he opened it.

"The fuck – Spencer, what –" Lassiter's horrified spluttering faded into the background as Shawn took in the sight before him. Water trickled down powerfully muscled arms and from dark, unruly hair. A well-defined chest boasted its own covering of dark curls, which thinned to a light dusting down over Lassiter's navel, below which – he was clutching a towel.

Shawn stepped forward, reached up, and buried his fingers in that glorious hair, pulling Lassiter's face down to his. He silenced the protests by claiming Lassiter's open mouth with his. It took only a moment of soft pressure from lips and tongue before Shawn was shoved against a wall, condensation from the shower running down his spine and soaking through his pajama pants. One of Lassiter's arms slid around his waist to pull his hips closer, which trapped the towel between them.

"Shawn," Lassiter breathed, breaking away long enough to kiss the corner of Shawn's mouth, "Are you sure – I don't want to – "

"God, Carlton, _shut up,_" said Shawn as he pulled Lassiter's head down again. The kiss was desperate, rough, perfect. He moaned quietly when Lassiter bit his bottom lip and rocked his hips forward, feeling the pressure of Lassiter's erection on his thigh. Shawn reached down and yanked the towel out from between them, then wrapped his hand around the base of Lassiter's cock and squeezed. Lassiter let out a deep groan, tilting his head back and biting his lip.

Then Shawn was pinned against the wall again, one of Lassiter's legs thrust between his, lifting him on his toes and drawing a whine out of him, which turned into a gasp when Lassiter began trailing kisses down his neck. It was unbearable, this blunt friction; he could feel the tip of his cock throbbing as each movement rubbed against it. Fortunately, Lassiter seemed to be thinking the same thing. He drew back, smiling, his eyes heavy-lidded, and pulled the drawstring of Shawn's pants until the knot untied and the pants dropped to the floor.

"Come on," said Lassiter, taking Shawn's hand and leading him out of the bathroom. When they got to the bedroom, Shawn found himself being scooped up and set down gently on the blankets. He wrapped his hand around the back of Lassiter's neck and pulled him down as he laid back.

The next several minutes were a blur of lips and tongue and the delicious pressure of Lassiter's body moving on top of him. A hand slipped between his legs, stroking upward until it reached his cock and fingers teased at the tip – he whimpered, and spread his legs even wider.

"Shawn," Lassiter raised his head, his eyes bright, hair still messy from the shower; he looked like a god. Shawn promised himself he'd mess up Lassie's hair whenever he got the chance. Another slow stroke of Lassiter's hand removed all thought except _God yes please - ! _ and he almost missed the next words. "Shawn, I want to… are you ok with…" Lassie was holding a bottle of lube and a condom, his expression unsure.

It took a second to find his voice, then Shawn gasped, "Yes, Lassie, Carlton, do it," and when this failed to remove the uncertainty from Lassiter's face, he kissed him behind the ear, bit gently at his earlobe, and whispered, "Fuck me, please."

A grin spread across Lassiter's face as he uncapped the lube and spread it over his fingers. Shawn hissed as he felt a single digit enter him, then smiled and said, "Relax, Carly. You're not gonna hurt me."

Trying to follow his own advice, Shawn let his head fall back as the finger moved in and out, and was soon joined by a second. Fire was coiling in his abdomen and pouring into his cock, getting hotter with each stroke. When he felt the third finger go in he moaned, shoving himself downward.

Then Lassiter hit his prostate and heat burst through him. A cry escaped his lips and a bead of precome trickled down his cock. A few more strokes had him writhing and moaning – the fingers were removed and he whined in protest – strong hands seized his hips – he clutched the covers as Lassiter entered him slowly.

Lassiter said, "Are you –"

"_Yes_, God please just fuck me, come on Carly just – " the rest of Shawn's words disappeared into a high-pitched moan as Lassiter thrust into him, each stroke sending fire shooting through him.

The sounds Lassiter was making were unreal; he was gasping and groaning as he built to a punishing pace. Shawn was beyond words or he would have told Lassiter how amazing he was, how he couldn't believe they'd waited this long, but he could only moan and whimper as the heat in his belly became unbearable.

Shawn felt his balls clench and his cock go absolutely rigid and said, "Carly – I'm gonna –"

Then a hand wrapped around his cock again and with every thrust Lassiter rubbed his thumb over the tip of Shawn's straining erection. With a few more thrusts Shawn was gone, almost sobbing as he came. Lassiter came a moment later, throwing his head back and biting his lip on the deep cry that escaped him.

Their heavy breathing filled the room as Lassiter pulled out of Shawn and collapsed on the bed beside him. Shawn draped a hand over Lassiter's chest.

After a moment, Lassiter sighed and slowly sat up, kissed Shawn's forehead, and said, "Be right back." He left the room, and came back a few minutes later with a box of tissues. As Shawn watched, too tired and content to bother moving, he wiped himself off, then sat on the bed and did the same for Shawn. That done, he climbed over Shawn and pulled the blankets free, covering them both.

Shawn felt himself being gathered into a warm chest, strong arms wrapping around him, and sighed in happiness. A few moments later a lump rose in his throat.

_Jesus, crying after sex. I could not be any more pathetic. _

He bit the inside of his cheek, trying to will the stinging in his eyes away, but a tear spilled out, and trickled down his face to land on the arm around his shoulders.

"Shawn?"

Angrily, he wiped his eyes. "I'm fine. God, Lassie, I can't believe we didn't do that sooner…"

"No, no, don't do that. What do I have to do to convince you to talk to me? Though I agree we should have done that a long time ago," he added, dropping a kiss on the back of Shawn's shoulder.

Shawn just burrowed into Lassiter's arms more securely, trying to savor the feeling of being held. Lassiter sighed. "Please just talk to me. I won't pry, I won't judge… whatever it is, I want to help."

Cold fear crept up from Shawn's stomach and gripped his heart. He truly hated talking about himself. With a deep breath, he said, "That was… the first time in a long time that I've… actually known the name of the person I was having sex with." He closed his eyes and waited for Lassiter to kick him out, of his bed, of his house, of his life.

"Oh, Shawn," Lassiter sighed. "It's ok. Just go to sleep. We'll talk tomorrow." He tightened his arm around Shawn's waist, surrounding him in warmth.

Another tear fell from Shawn's eye and Lassiter kissed his back again, whispering, "Shh, it's ok."

Lassiter fell asleep a few minutes later, his soft breathing brushing Shawn's ear. Shawn didn't sleep for hours, which was pretty much normal for him. He was too busy trying not to think and failing. Before he finally fell asleep, however, he decided not sleeping in Lassie's bed was definitely better than not sleeping in his own.

Shawn woke the next morning with a start, and stared at the unfamiliar walls, wondering where he was and why he didn't remember, since he didn't have a hangover. Then the warm body wrapped around him muttered, "Stop… police… drop the lettuce…" and he grinned, letting his head fall back onto the pillow.

_Two days ago I didn't even know Lassie liked guys, and now I'm in his bed. Wonder what happens now._

As quietly as he could, he slipped out from under Lassiter's arms and tiptoed out of the room. He grabbed his pajama pants from the bathroom floor and put them on, then went to the kitchen.

The kitchen was as pristine and impersonal as the rest of the place. There were more unidentifiable stainless steel cooking implements and unfamiliar ingredients than he'd ever seen before, but all the coffee mugs had the police shield on them and even the silverware was organized.

_This is unhealthy. Why is he pretending to be a robot? _

There was only one thing to do. After putting on some real clothes from the duffle Gus had given them and fixing his hair, Shawn grabbed a pen and paper and wrote _Carly – Running a few errands. Back soon. _He debated with himself for five minutes over how to sign it – was X's and O's too new-girlfriend clingy? Was "love" worth the risk of commitment-phobia? Did it even matter, if Lassie woke up and regretted everything? In the end, he shook his head and just wrote, _Shawn_.

After stopping at the smoothie shop a block from Lassiter's place – somewhere he'd never been, and he'd been certain he knew all the smoothie places in Santa Barbara – Shawn got on the bus and went to Gus' apartment.

"Buddy! I know you're in there!" he shouted as he banged on the door for the third time. "Dude, we've been here before, you know I'm not going away!"

Still no answer. Shawn sighed and rested his head against the door then banged his forehead on it a few times. "Gus," he said. "I'm here to apologize, at least let me do it to your face before you slam the door again."

A moment later, the door was yanked open to reveal a very unimpressed-looking Gus.

"I got you a smoothie," said Shawn, shoving his half-drunk smoothie into Gus' hands and walking past him into the apartment. The TV was playing a nature show in which a lion was bringing down a deer, and Gus' computer and some work documents were spread out on the couch.

Gus scoffed and closed the door, then set the smoothie down on the counter. "What do you want, Shawn?"

"I want to say sorry! You know I can't go too long without my Gus! You're like my Jiminy Cricket crossed with my…"

"Chauffeur?" Gus folded his arms.

"What? No, I got stuck between new Nickelodeon cartoons and 80's cop shows and just blanked. You know I'd drive if you'd let anyone else near your car."

This earned a grudging nod, but Gus just kept standing there watching him with his arms folded. It was eerily reminiscent of Lassie the night before. Which brought Shawn back to the reason he was there.

He took a deep breath. "Dude, I mean it. I know all you were doing was trying to help. I know I take advantage of you. I just… you're literally my only friend. I know that's for a good reason, I know I'm kind of impossible… And when I heard you telling Lassie that I… you know, I just, I thought, that's it. That's the last person I trusted, gone, and I just – " Shawn's throat closed up and he swiped impatiently at the tears that spilled down his face. He'd done way too much crying lately. Unable to keep looking at Gus' indifferent expression, he stared at the floor.

A heavy sigh and footsteps made him look up. Gus put his hands on Shawn's shoulders, the stony expression gone. "Hey. It's ok, man, come here." Gus led him over to the couch and moved the documents so they could sit. "I'm sorry for telling Lassie. I was just really worried about you."

"Yeah," Shawn sighed. "Seems like that's been going around. So, I'm sorry. I really am. Um…" he looked at Gus hesitantly. "Are we good?"

"Yeah, we're good. But Shawn, if you ever pull a stunt like that again, I will kill you. You promised me you wouldn't go back to those cliffs."

"And I promise again. I really won't."

"Good." They sat in comfortable silence for a minute, then Gus said, "So, how's staying with Lassie? He threaten to shoot you yet?"

The sheer number of possible responses to that question was so overwhelming Shawn found himself momentarily without a response. He burst out laughing, half in anticipation of Gus' expression, half in relief to have his best friend back. A knot in the pit of his stomach he hadn't known was there had loosened.

"Ok, brace yourself. I… slept with Lassie."

Gus choked, and stared at Shawn in disbelief. "No you didn't."

"I did."

"No… no, Shawn, Lassiter? _Lassiter? _I just... I don't even... no. You mean slept in the same bed, because you hate sleeping alone when you're down." Gus' face was priceless, his expression half shock, half pure denial.

"No, man, listen," said Shawn, and proceeded to take Gus through what had actually happened the past few days: Lassie, drunk and rambling and apparently crushing on Shawn, his reaction when Shawn had kissed him again at the apartment, and finally the (very, very edited) events of the previous night. When he finished, Gus was shaking his head.

"Lassiter likes men? My God, my entire world just turned upside down… though I get it now why he was so adamant about helping me find you." He got up and started putting his documents into folders.

"What? Dude, that is not the issue here! The issue is that I don't know what to do now! You realize my last actual relationship was with Abigail, and I practically torpedoed it right when things might have gotten serious? Also, it's entirely possible that Lassie will come to his senses and realize he's making a huge mistake, because I'm impulsive and obnoxious and self-centered and oh yeah, _clinically depressed_, and also sort of a coworker, and he's in the closet, and he doesn't have any pictures in his apartment, and – "

"Woah, Shawn, take a breath." Gus grabbed Shawn's hands, which he'd been waving wildly. "One, it sounds like Lassiter's liked you for a while, and he already knew most of that stuff about you."

"Thanks, buddy."

"You know what I mean. And, he hasn't exactly run from your issues; he's pretty much been doing everything he could to help. The coworker thing could be a problem, but it's a little early to be panicking over that yet."

Shawn took a deep breath and nodded. Not that he actually believed anything Gus was saying, but it was nice to have someone sane say things he wanted to hear.

"As far as him being in the closet, well, it's not the first time you've been with a closeted dude. So what do you mean he doesn't have any pictures in his place? What happened to the creepy perp-wall?"

"I don't know, but seriously man, it's unsettling. No pictures, no decorative lamps, no interesting dinnerware – and he's a foodie! He made this little pie thing, it had chicken and apples and something that wasn't an onion, it was amazing! But none of his stuff has any… personality, you know? Like he went and bought the least interesting everything he could find. You didn't hear him the other night either, dude has some issues of his own."

Gus frowned. "Um… Shawn, are you sure this is healthy for either of you? Maybe you shouldn't been staying there. He does have a lot of guns."

"What? Gus, don't be a grapple. He's not going to hurt me, and like you said, he's trying to help me. The least I can do is return the favor."

"And you really like him."

"Well, yeah, I mean, you know how long I've been trying to get in his pants, and I didn't even know it was a real possibility."

Gus gave him a knowing look. "No, I mean you _really _like him. You've practically been in love since he got you your bike back."

"Woah, dude. No use of the L-word. Uncool. No, listen, I have an idea, but I need your help."

_Holy shit, another chapter! Sorry again about the long wait, but, well, life. Please review if you have the time, it makes me very happy. Peace and pineapples, y'all. _


	9. Chapter 9

"No. Nope. No, no, not even close, no, dear _God _no. Gus, what is wrong with this place?" Shawn's voice got louder as he jogged down the aisle of framed art. He and Gus had been to two thrift stores, a Crate and Barrel, and some lesser-known establishments such as Uncle Gary's Home Décor and Stuff to Hang on Walls. In each store, Shawn had raced through the aisles and pronounced everything unsatisfactory. In the last place, they hadn't even made it past the welcome mat before Shawn shook his head, shouted "Nope!" and ran out again.

Gus sighed. "I don't know, what was wrong with the last three places?" He wasn't even sure what the original plan was at this point. Shawn had said they needed to find Lassie "something rad" for his apartment. Then he had babbled about Lassie's cooking and refused to answer Gus' questions about how he was feeling.

This did not bode well.

"Something. Something is very wrong. These things do not say 'Lassie' to me. Or 'Carlton', though that might be because they think Lassie is a much better name anyway." Shawn wrapped his good arm around the one in bandages and glared around at the store as he joined Gus at the end of the aisle.

"How about we take a break? I saw a churro cart down the street." Gus kept the concern from his voice and started ambling toward the exit.

Shawn trailed behind him. "Sure. Fine."

They got their churros and wandered into a park, eating in silence. Well, Gus was eating, Shawn was tearing bits of his churro off and throwing them at the pigeons. When they finished they tossed the trash into cans and headed for a nearby bench.

Shawn was drumming his hand on his thigh, one leg jittering as he and Gus watched a fountain that looked like an eagle. Running a hand over his head, Gus tried to think of a way to get Shawn back to his place so he could calm down. Suddenly, Shawn got up again and started walking away, hand stuffed in his pocket. Gus stared after him for a moment then ran to catch up.

"Um, Shawn? Where are you going?"

"Nowhere. Just walking. Hey," Shawn stopped and turned a forced smile on Gus. "You should go home. I interrupted your work, and I know how traumatic that is for you. I'm surprised you're not already showing signs of PTSD."

"Um, no, I'm good, I can finish that paperwork anytime. What –"

"Gus, you don't need to be strong for me! I can tell it's killing you. Really, man, go dot some i's, have some tea. I'm good." He started walking again and refused to meet Gus' eyes.

Gus snorted. The urge to grab Shawn and slap him a few times was almost overwhelming, but he knew that would never work. He knew it from experience, actually, and he also knew the worst thing he could do right now would be to, in Shawn's words, "go all Henry."

That didn't mean he was going to let Shawn nonsense his way out of this, though. "You know I'm pretty much the one person your bullshit won't work on, right? Let's go back to my place for a while. I think Pretty in Pink is going to be on TV later, how's that sound? Oh, and it's 'cross the t's,' not 'have some tea'."

Shawn sighed. "I've heard… it… oh, whatever." He rolled his shoulders and winced. "You think I can take these stupid bandages off now? Nothing's broken, right? I look ridiculous with my arm all strapped to my chest."

"It's been like a day and a half, and there are fractures. Leave it on. You want me to take you back to Lassiter's?"

An emphatic headshake was his only answer. The Shawn stopped walking abruptly, staring into space. "Gus."

"What?"

"Gus. Gus, Gus, Gus!"

"What, Shawn? What?" Gus looked around, trying to find a less public spot to take Shawn if he was having a panic attack.

"Where's my bike?" His eyes were wide, his whole body quivering slightly. "Gus, what happened to my bike? Is it still by the cliff? Oh my God, what did I do to my bike?"

"Oh. No, don't worry, it's ok. I went and got it. It's in the parking garage under my building. It's pretty scratched up, but you drove it to the cliffs after the crash anyway, so I think it's… fine... Shawn?"

Shawn's face crumpled and he let out a tiny sob. He covered his mouth with his hands and sank to the ground. Gus sat next to him and put an arm around his shoulders, which were shaking hard as he tried to keep from making noise. Tears spilled down his cheeks.

"Hey. Tell me what's wrong."

Squeezing his eyes shut, Shawn shook his head.

"Come on. It'll be ok, just tell me."

Shawn's breath hitched and he said in a quiet, broken voice, "Y-you… even though you were m-mad at me… I could h-have r-ruined my bike. I'm s-such a fucking dumbass…" He dropped his head onto his knees, sobbing.

Scooting closer, Gus rubbed his friend's back. "Shh, it's ok. You didn't ruin anything, come on. It's ok." He kept up the soothing words as Shawn cried, and glared at any passerby who looked at them.

_Why did I let him talk me into this? I should have known he'd still be fragile. Dammit, did I not just tell him it's only been two days since he 'hit a car'? _

Finally, Shawn grew calmer, taking hiccupping breaths. Gus patted his shoulder. "Hey, you wanna get out of here? Let's go back to my place, ok?"

Drawing in an unsteady breath, Shawn sniffled and rubbed his eyes, then nodded. Gus got up and pulled Shawn to his feet with a hand under his good shoulder. When they were both upright, however, Shawn collapsed against Gus, sobbing helplessly into his friend's chest. Gus did the only thing he could: he wrapped his arms around Shawn and held him. They stayed like that for several minutes as tears soaked Gus' shirt.

"Come on, Shawn, let's go." Gus kept his arm around Shawn's shoulders and guided him back down the path, berating himself for getting so far from the Blueberry, for letting this happen at all. Gradually, the crying became sniffles and shuddering. Shawn kept his head down, hiding in Gus' shoulder as they walked.

Finally, they got back to the parking lot where they'd left the Blueberry. There was someone leaning over it, cupping their hands to look in the window.

"Hey!" Gus squeezed Shawn's shoulder and Shawn hung back as Gus strode forward. "What the – Lassiter?"

Lassiter straightened, a guilty expression on his face. "Guster! What are you doing here?"

"You mean here where my car is? Are you following me? What the hell, Lassiter?"

"…No. No, I'm… um…" Lassiter was fidgeting with his keys, staring at something behind Gus. Grimacing, Gus went back for his friend, who was standing a few feet away, leg bouncing, scrubbing at his eyes with his sleeve. The guilt on Lassiter's face intensified as Gus lead Shawn over to lean against the car and Shawn's pale, tear-streaked face and red eyes came into view.

_Oh God… they slept together last night. This is going to get real awkward, real fast. _

"So? What are you doing here?" Gus wasn't quite able to keep the protective edge from his voice.

Without taking his eyes from Shawn, Lassiter said, "I was… um… he left his phone. At my place. I didn't know where he was… I was just, um, making sure…"

_He was worried. I don't even… this could not get any weirder. _

"Oh. Well… thanks. Sorry for kind of freaking out there. Shawn?" Gently, Gus put a hand on Shawn's shoulder. "Hey man, why'd you leave your phone?"

He got only a shrug; Shawn wouldn't even look up from the ground.

"You gotta know that's not the best idea…"

A nod, more leg bouncing and hand twitching.

"Um, can I talk to him?" Lassiter came around the car and Gus moved a few feet away, giving them some space.

"Shawn?" The green Psych phone was produced from a pocket and Lassiter held it out. "I was… you didn't… you really worried me." He whispered the last part and stiffly put a hand on Shawn's shoulder.

Shawn took the phone. "Thanks, Lassie," he said softly. "I'm… I'm really…" His breath caught and two tears rolled down his cheeks. "I'm sorry… I d-didn't mean t-to, I j-just f-forgot..." Taking a huge, shaky breath, he swallowed hard and finally looked up. "I'm sorry."

Now it was Lassiter's turn to avoid eye contact. Gus was trying very hard not to stare, but the scene playing out in front him was just incredible. It was like Lassiter had been replaced with normal person, with feelings beyond anger at lawbreakers and a possible gun fetish.

When Lassiter spoke again his voice was almost too soft for Gus to hear. "So… you didn't… wake up and, um, regret, you know…"

A small smile appeared on Shawn's lips, though another tear slid down his face. "Lassie," he said, then when Lassiter didn't look at him, he reached up and put a hand on Lassiter's cheek. Eyes wide, Lassiter stared down at Shawn. Shawn shook his head, then stood on his tiptoes and kissed him softly.

_Oh my God. Oh my God. I cannot believe what I am seeing. _

Gus whirled away, finally managing to close his mouth, which had been hanging open in shock for the past five minutes.

When he turned back around, Lassiter had his arms around Shawn and Shawn had his face buried in Lassiter's chest. Shawn was completely still, no twitching, no fidgeting.

Gus cleared his throat. "So. I was about to take Shawn home to get some rest."

"Yeah," Lassiter looked down at Shawn. "I think he might be falling asleep."

"M'not asleep," The words were muffled by Lassiter's shirt. "M'good."

This prompted a gentle snort from Lassiter. "Right. Look, Guster, I don't know if Woody already called you, but I was wondering if you could come over and entertain him for a while today. Though it looks like you might not have to do much," he smiled and ran a hand over the disarray of Shawn's hair. "Anyway, how about you both come back to my place?"

"Sounds good to me," said Gus as he opened the passenger door for Shawn, who leaned back against the seat, closing his eyes and sighing. "Hey, how did you find us, anyway?"

Lassiter grinned. "Come on, Guster. You are talking to the head detective of the SBPD. " Twirling his keys, he sauntered across the parking lot to his car.

PSYCH PSYCH PSYCH PSYCH PSYCH PSYCH PSYCH PSYCH PSYCH PSYCH PSYCH PSYCH

Shawn fell asleep on Lassiter's couch five minutes after they got to the apartment, so Lassiter moved him to the bedroom. He then sat down and had his ass kicked by Guster at Wii tennis for two hours.

Then Guster left, and Lassiter sat on his couch in the deep gold glow of mid-afternoon, disassembling and reassembling his service weapon. He wasn't timing it, he knew precisely how long it took him, and that wasn't the point. Other than tap dancing, which he couldn't exactly do in his apartment with Shawn asleep and people living below him, it was the only thing that really cleared his head.

He was on his sixteenth reassemble when he heard a noise from the bedroom. Setting the gun down, he listened, and heard a soft cry. He jumped up and ran to the bedroom, and found Shawn curled in a ball, clutching the sheets, shaking as tears ran from his closed eyes.

"Shawn?" Lassiter said softly, sitting down next to him. "Come on, wake up." He hesitantly touched Shawn's arm, not wanting to startle him.

There was no sign that Shawn had heard him. He whimpered and shook his head. "No… I'm not… I'm sorry, please don't…"

"Shawn, wake up. It's ok, just wake up." Gently, Lassiter squeezed Shawn's shoulder.

With a gasp, Shawn's eyes flew open and he jerked away. "Wh – Lassie?"

"Sorry – you, um, you were having a nightmare… oh." Lassiter found himself with an armful of Shawn for the second time that day. His chest was aching, a sensation Shawn's presence normally provoked; he usually handled it with shouting and violence. Shawn tucked his head into Lassiter's neck and the ache intensified, constricting his heart.

"It was my Dad." Shawn's voice was completely emotionless.

It took a minute for Lassiter to recover from the shock of Shawn volunteering information. "What happened?"

The words brushed his neck with warmth. "I was at his house. I think I was supposed to be… building something, or fixing something, I don't know. And I finished, and it was perfect, exactly how he wanted it, and then. He came in. And."

"And?"

"H-he… started laughing, and s-said I did a shitty job and I looked again and he w-was right, it was all… fucked up and I d-don't know h-how it…" He took a deep breath. "Anyway, then we had the 'Shawn is a worthless failure' conversation, and you woke me up. Thanks for that, by the way, I think he was about to tell me another 'when I was a cop, blah blah blah' story, and I can't even sit through those when I'm awake."

_I think I just got mood whiplash. How does he turn the 'who gives a shit' on and off so fast? _

Lassiter opened his mouth to say something, but Shawn wriggled out of his arms and jumped up off the bed. Flashing a grin, he left the room, and a few seconds later the sound of the bathroom sink could be heard. Lassiter went to the kitchen.

"Are you hungry?" he called when he heard the water shut off. "Guster said you haven't eaten, I can make something." He turned the stove on and set a pot of water on it to boil.

Shawn came in and sat down at the table, looking pale but composed. Well, as composed as Shawn ever looked; he was tapping some rhythm on the table and twitching his leg. "Nah, I'm good. So, what cases have you got? Anything stumping that mighty detective brain of yours?"

"Wh – no, not really. Look, you need to eat something."

"You know, the chief mentioned a robbery had gone down at a bakery. She assured me all the pastries were safe. Except something called a struffoli, she said that had gone into witness protection. Want me to see if I can find the culprit? We can't have a madman running around scaring the delicious baked goods of this city out of their sprinkles."

Fishing a bag of pasta out of the cupboard, Lassiter said, "No, I think O'Hara and I can handle that one. Will you eat if I incorporate pineapple into this?"

"Really, I'm just not that hungry. I had a smoothie earlier, bet Gus didn't tell you that, the liar."

Lassiter slammed his hands down on the counter. "Jesus, Shawn! What do you expect me to do here?" Turning around, he met Shawn's wide eyes with a level stare. "You cannot give me the hilarious banter and the cute little grin and just expect me to pretend everything's fine."

"Aw, Lassie, did you just call me hilarious _and_ cute?"

Lassiter rubbed his face tiredly. "Yes. And we probably need to talk about that too, but," he dropped into the seat next to Shawn and took Shawn's hand. "I just… I'm not good at… any of this. The last time I had another person in my apartment was three months ago, and it was my ex-wife's lawyer bringing me documents to sign. So I'd… really, um, really like to… keep going to sleep with you in my arms." He flushed bright pink as he said this, but kept looking straight into Shawn's eyes. "And I really want to be able to help. But I don't know how. And you're not making it any easier."

Silence filled the kitchen as Lassiter waited for Shawn to say something. Shawn looked stunned, his mouth hanging open, his hand frozen in Lassiter's grip. Slowly, a smile spread over his face. "Damn, Lassie," he said, as he pulled Lassiter close. "Usually I'm the one with the impassioned speeches." He closed the distance and captured Lassiter's mouth in a kiss.

When they broke apart, Shawn grinned and said, "Were you serious about pineapple pasta? Because that sounds amazing."

_YOU GUYS. Thank you so much for all the amazing, sweet reviews. I love you all. And I'm really happy you're enjoying reading this as much as I am writing it! I'm pretty shocked I managed to get this up so fast. I'm on a roll, people! Actually it's just finals week and I have the easiest schedule ever. Peace and pineapples, y'all. _


	10. Chapter 10

_Woo chapter! In which things happen! Also, I've decided in my Psych-world Henry never took the job at the SBPD, because I can. Yes, Henry finally shows up in this chapter. Yay. Actually, be warned, if you're a fan of Henry. He doesn't come off well here. _

_Anyway, spoilers, adult content, yada yada. Enjoy!_

Shawn opened his eyes and grinned, spreading his arms and legs as far as they would go in Lassie's giant bed. Now that he could actually move both arms, he was making it a point to appreciate his full range of motion. And really, for a man with such utilitarian taste in décor, Lassie had the most comfortable furniture. The couch was nearly impossible to get out of once you'd sat down, and the bed… well, Shawn had been staying here for six days now and he'd yet to leave the bed before eleven in the morning. Though that may have had something to do with the horny teenager sex every night, the memory of which made Shawn grin even more as he buried his face in Lassie's pillow.

It being Thursday, Lassie had been at work for – Shawn checked his phone – almost four hours already. After an epic battle with the forces of warm sheets and pillows, Shawn got out of bed and stumbled into the kitchen. The oven was on, just set to warm, and Shawn pulled it open and breathed in, savoring the smell of banana pancakes. Humming the A-Team theme, he got the syrup and pineapple juice out of the fridge, then sat down to enjoy his breakfast.

Something was wrong. Shawn looked around the kitchen, wondering what was causing the uneasy flutter in his stomach.

The window above the sink. The curtain was pulled back; Lassie must have opened it when he was making breakfast and Shawn could see the gleaming tops of buildings and splashes of palm trees. Grimacing, he got up and pulled the dark blue curtain over the window, shutting out the view of the glorious morning.

Now everything was perfect. He finished his breakfast and took a shower, then got dressed in an old pair of Lassie's flannel pajama pants and one of his police academy t-shirts. The pants flopped a good several inches over his feet and the shirt came almost halfway down his thighs, but it didn't matter in the slightest. He was surrounded by all things Lassie, right down to his scent, and that meant he was ok.

The rest of the morning and early afternoon passed quietly. He watched some TV, played some Mario Kart on the Wii, and made a sandwich he was sure would've horrified Lassie, involving pineapple, wasabi mayo, and some leftover chicken. As he stood in the kitchen eating, there was a knock on the door.

Shawn opened the door. "Gus!" He waved his sandwich at his friend, stepping back to let Gus and the large duffel bag he was carrying in. "What's that? I hope you're not planning on moving in with Lassie too. For one thing, you'd have to sleep on the couch, and for another, you'd totally cramp our style, dude."

"No, Shawn, these are your clothes. I figured you were probably out since there wasn't much in that bag I gave Lassiter, so I went to your place and – did you just say you've moved in? Like, officially living here?" Gus set the bag down and stared at Shawn, his expression something between apprehension and amusement.

_God, don't ask me questions. Anything but questions. _

Walking back to the kitchen, Shawn said, "Not like that. I mean, maybe. I mean… I don't know." The sandwich looked disgusting now, oozing mayo and pineapple bits. And the fluttery stomach thing was back. He set the sandwich on the counter.

He must not have hidden his distress very well because Gus said in a very deliberate I'm-dropping-this voice, "Ok. Well, it looks like I was right about the clothes, anyway. You look ridiculous."

Shawn chose not to dignify that with a response. He went back to the living room and flopped down on the couch, where Gus joined him a second later. They watched TV together for a few minutes, and then Gus looked around and said, "Why are all the curtains drawn?"

"Bec –" Shawn's voice caught in his throat. "Because the neighbors don't need to see me and Lassie having sexytimes at night, the pervs. I'm sure they were watching us." He leered at Gus.

Gus rolled his eyes. "Ok, then why are they still drawn? It's a beautiful day outside, and it's kind of gloomy in here." He got up and moved toward the big window facing the street.

"Gus, no!" Shawn grabbed Gus' wrist, halting his progress. Unable to meet Gus' eyes, he looked down, but didn't release his friend's wrist. "Just… leave it. I don't mind the gloom. Besides, that's what I've got you for, my ray of chocolate sunshine!"

_Stop looking at me like that. _

When Gus finally sat back down, Shawn let go of his wrist and turned back to the TV. He took a few deep breaths, trying to calm his pounding heart.

The TV was the only sound in the room for another few minutes, until, "Juliet asked where you were."

"What?" Shawn blinked and realized he'd been staring into space. "When did you see Jules? And without me, dude? I know Lassie and I are all relationship-y now, but you could wait a week or so before making your move."

"No, I went to the station because the Chief had our check from the last case. Which she wouldn't give me. She said we both had to be there."

"But she's given you the check before… oh, I get it. The Chief has a crush on me! I guess it was just a matter of time, after all, how – "

"The Chief's married! Besides, I think you freaked her out last time you were in. She said to come in and get the check when you were 'rested' and she said something about a new case for you…"

Shawn could feel Gus watching him. "Rested, huh? Well, sounds like she doesn't mind me taking a few more days off. How 'bout it, buddy? Wanna get all caught up on your drug pushing?"

He got only a sigh in response, and when he glanced at Gus, his friend was staring at his own tightly folded hands, brow furrowed, mouth a tight line. Worry Face.

"Gus, I'm fine," he tried.

No response.

"Really! Besides, you're always saying Psych takes time away from your other job, why don't – "

Gus looked at him, and he stopped talking. When Gus didn't look away, just kept searching his face, Shawn threw up his hands. "What, dude? What?"

"You're fine."

"_Yes._"

"Can I ask you a question?" Gus folded his arms.

The jokes died before Shawn could voice them, and he sighed. "Yeah, what."

"When was the last time you left this apartment?"

"Wh – I don't – why?" Again, Shawn took deep breaths, feeling his heart beat wildly and sitting on his hands so they wouldn't shake.

"It was Sunday, wasn't it. You haven't left since Sunday. You've been sitting in Lassiter's place with the _curtains drawn _for four days straight, and you expect me to believe you're fine. And Lassie is cool with this, too? I would never have guessed he'd be so comfortable with you around all the time so early."

This sent a shiver of fear through Shawn. _He's right. Oh God, he's right, Lassie probably needs a break. He's not exactly used to… whatever this is, and I don't even_ know _what this is! I'm an idiot. Banana pancakes every morning does not mean he's ready for me to be here all the time. _

"…Shawn? Hello, Shawn?" Gradually, Shawn became aware the Gus had been trying to talk to him for several minutes. The Worry Face was getting intense, too.

"Yeah! Yeah, sorry, buddy. You're… you're right, I haven't left since Sunday. I just… need a few more days, ok? I'll be fine soon, and we'll go get our check from the Chief and see about that case. Just…" Shawn looked away, fidgeting with a loose thread on Lassie's pajama pants. "Just need a few more days."

The expression on Gus' face said clearly he wanted to argue, but he didn't. They watched TV for a while, then switched to playing video games at Shawn's suggestion. He needed something more active to distract himself from the panic welling up in his stomach.

PSYCH PSYCH PSYCH PSYCH PSYCH PSYCH PSYCH PSYCH PSYCH PSYCH PSYCH PSYCH PSYCH PSYCH

"This is stupid." Shawn muttered to himself, standing in the middle of the produce section of the closest grocery store to Lassie's house. He'd been saying it pretty steadily for the past couple of hours. When Gus had finally left, Shawn had spent forty-five minutes pacing frantically, then, before he could think himself out of it, changed into some of his own clothes and left. The idea to replenish some of the food he'd eaten had come to him as he was wavering on the sidewalk, thinking about the safe little world in which he'd spent the last five days, a world built of rumpled sheets and the sound of sizzling from the kitchen and warm skin under his hands. It felt like that world was wobbling on its axis, ready to tip over and collapse.

He had to stop it from collapsing. Hence, the grocery store, where he found himself assaulted by details – that man's having an affair, thirty-six carts in the parking lot, woman with a new baby at home, doesn't trust the babysitter – and what felt like the judgmental stares of all of Santa Barbara.

_They're not staring at you; you just haven't seen a person other than Lassie and Gus for a week. Calm down. _

"This is stupid," he muttered again, picking up a tomato. Grocery shopping was usually a Gus-enforced and Gus-accompanied activity, and he was completely at a loss. Also, Lassie was going to be home soon, and Shawn wanted to be there to greet him.

_Or maybe I don't. Maybe I should give him some space. I guess that means I should go back to my place… ugh. Maybe I can get Lassie to come over just for a while tonight. That might be ok. _

_Or it might be the final straw, if he feels crowded. _

_Shit. _

Feeling a little sick, Shawn put down the tomato and began wandering down the aisles, pushing his empty cart, eyes sliding over the wildly colorful packages without really seeing any of it.

"Shawn?"

The gruff voice came from behind him and he stopped, willing it to be a hallucination.

_Come on, not now. Not now. _

"Shawn, hey!" The definitely not-hallucinated voice of his father said.

Closing his eyes, Shawn dropped his head. Then he raised it again and turned with a bright smile on his face. "Hey, Dad! What are you doing here, at this grocery store which is really far away from your house?"

"The deli guys here. Have you been to the deli? They are geniuses at cutting meat. What about…" Henry trailed off, staring at his son like he was a piece of evidence. Shawn did his best to look relaxed and happy, but apparently didn't quite pull it off. He really needed to get a handle on that, it was becoming a trend. "Damn, kid, have you turned into a vampire? You're kinda pale. And you've got dark circles under your eyes, are you sick?"

"No! No, I'm fine, just been… working a lot. Big caseload, you know. The people need my psychic gifts!" Shawn waved his hands around his temple.

Henry scoffed, and folded his arms. "Yeah, I bet. What's your idea of a big caseload, about one case? Jeez, kid, you don't even have a real job, and now you're complaining it's too much work?"

A familiar feeling of impotent anger began boiling in Shawn's stomach and he flexed his hands on the handle of the cart, trying not to clench his fists or grit his teeth. Henry would see. "No, Dad, I'm not complaining, you brought it up, remember? I'm good."

"Right, which is why you look like a corpse."

"A corpse with great hair, though, you have to admit! Now, I'll let you get back to your finely-sliced meats…" Hoping that would be it, Shawn began to turn away.

"Woah. Wait a minute." The teasing had drained out of Henry's voice, and he narrowed his eyes. "You've been drinking again, haven't you."

"Wh – no, Dad! What the hell? I told you, I've just – "

"Been working a lot, yeah, heard that. You've never worked hard enough in your life to look this tired, Shawn. I'm not an idiot. Dammit, why are you slipping now? Or do you not care about your fake job as much as you said you did?"

Someone's hands (they felt a lot like Henry's, actually) were crushing Shawn's lungs. The anger was pounding in his head with every wild beat of his heart. Taking as deep a breath as he could manage, he said, "Dad. I'm not drinking. Actually, if you really want to know, I'm… I met someone. I've been spending a lot of time with them."

As soon as the words left his mouth, he regretted them. Why he always found himself telling Henry details of his personal life, he had no idea, but it seemed like the defenses that kept the rest of the world safely at bay just crumbled in his father's presence. The urge to actually turn and run out of the store was almost overwhelming, but Shawn resisted. He would never run in front of his father.

Henry seemed at a loss for words for a minute, then burst into laughter. "You what? You _met someone_? How many dates have you had with your new love, two? Actually, two dates would be kind of a record for you since Abigail, wouldn't it? Though, it's not like you put any more effort into her than you do anything else; I was always a little surprised she stuck around as long as she did."

Shock blotted all the words out of Shawn's head for a minute. "What – Dad, come on!" Inwardly, he cringed at how whiny his voice had become. "That's not – how can you say that? Yang scared her off! And I don't really blame her, I mean, he tied her up under a pier!"

"I hate to be the one to tell you this, son, but she left because you didn't try hard enough to make her stay. If you had any idea what it's like to _work _at a relationship, you might be able to keep someone around for longer than a week, but you never will, because you have no idea what it's like to work at anything." With a smug smile, Henry folded his arms and regarded his son.

Shawn was trembling, as hard as he tried not to, gripping the handle of his cart until his hands ached. He was also staring wide-eyed and open-mouthed at Henry, but he couldn't seem to muster any self-control.

After a minute, the smile died from Henry's face and he said, slightly more gently, "I'm sorry, son, but you know it's true. Even after all my training, you just don't have any work ethic. You got the investigative skills, sure, but you never did learn to focus on anything."

Finally, Shawn got his voice back, though it was shaking just as much as he was. "Focus? You remember when I was nine, and Mom finally convinced you to take me to that doctor, and they said I had ADHD? And that I'd be able to calm down and _focus _better if I was on medication for it? You remember what you said? I do, because I remember everything, thanks to your _training_. You said 'Shawn doesn't need meds, he needs to buckle down and try harder. Medication will destroy everything useful about him, and ruin his chances at being a detective.'"

"And I was right, too! You know that, or have you decided to start taking the meds now? Yeah, I didn't think so. And don't forget, you may have given up on being a detective, but without my training, you'd never have Psych, whatever that's worth. Look, look," he said, holding up his hand to forestall Shawn's arguments. "I don't want to argue with you about the past. I think you know I was just trying to inspire you. I'm gonna get back to grocery shopping, I'll let you get back to," he looked at Shawn's empty cart, "whatever it was you were doing." And with that, Henry ambled past, whistling and throwing a wave over his shoulder.

Shawn had no idea how long he stood and stared after his father. Long enough for several people to pass and look quizzically at the guy zoned out in the middle of the aisle. When he could move again, he turned and walked straight out of the store, leaving his cart where it was.

Outside, the sun seemed to be trying to stab him, personally, in the eyes with its brightness and he fumbled around in his pockets before remembering he hadn't brought sunglasses. Muttering angrily under his breath, he stuffed his hands in his pockets and began walking down the street, with no clear plan, just needing to move. He watched his feet as he walked, trying to shut out the rest of the world.

_Jesus, that sucked. Yeah, Shawn, try and _argue _with Henry about his child-rearing methods. That's always gone well. Hey, while you're at it, why don't you tell him you have depression and panic-attack-inducing anxiety as well? Not like he can think less of you. _

Some time later, his phone rang. For a minute, the sound didn't register, then he gave a little start and pulled his phone out of his pocket. It was Lassie. Shawn stared at the phone, torn between answering and the desire never to speak to anyone ever again, then hit the accept button.

_A/N: Wow, that was actually kind of stressful to write. Ever written a story and then gone back and read through it and realized every single character is you? Yeah. It's weird. Anyway, thanks as always for sticking with my insanely slow update pace, and please review! I love love love my reviews. I count them at night, laughing maniacally. _


	11. Chapter 11

_A/N Holy Buddha shit, another chapter. It's much shorter than my usual, but it's been so incredibly long since I updated I just wanted to reassure everyone I'm not dead. This was actually supposed to be the halfway point of this chapter but I have several days of work coming up and I didn't want to wait any longer. As always, I humbly thank anyone still with me and every new reader. I do believe this story is within 3 to 4 chapters of being finished and then THE TITLE WILL MAKE SENSE asdfjkl; I cannot even. Anyway, thanks for reading, please tell me what you think!_

Thick beams of sun shot through the windows of the station, layering sharp rectangles of light and shadow over the clusters of desks and over officers. Lassiter watched dazedly as his colleagues slipped in and out of brightness, wondering at their clear purposeful paths.

He did not look at his phone, lying on the desk in front of him. He did not think about the conversation he'd just finished with Shawn, which had slipped suddenly and inexplicably through his grasp and left something like rope burns on his mind.

_Empty apartment again tonight. Stupid to let myself get used to him. _

It had been less than a week. He knew how to be alone; he'd done it for couldn't pretend it was by choice anymore, however. The memory of Shawn's voice, jittering between anger and pleading as he hung up on Lassiter, made him grit his teeth as a familiar aching emptiness bloomed in his chest.

Someone sun-limned and solid came to rest in his field of vision. "Carlton," they said in a voice that glared impatiently at him.

"…Yes." He blinked and saw O'Hara.

"Finally. Are you alright? Because we have a _lot _of paperwork to do before we can go home, and personally I would like to at least be able to pretend to have a life outside of this place." She set a stack of forms down on his desk with a thwack.

He looked at the forms and felt the rest of his life pass him by. It didn't hurt much, no more pressure than a strong wind. "I'll finish these. You can go."

Wrinkling her brow, O'Hara looked at the stack of paper and back at him. "What? Why? Since when does Head Detective Carlton Lassiter do his subordinates' paperwork?"

"Since I'm giving you an order. Go home. Pretend to have a life."

As she stood with her mouth slightly open in shock, Lassiter thought how incredibly young she was. Closer to Shawn's age than his. He thought he could see some of what she must have looked like as a child still in her free hair and shining skin.

After a moment, she shrugged and left. He took the stack of forms and bent to his task, allowing straight black lines on clean white paper to box away his thoughts. The evening wore on and people dripped out of the building along with the sunlight and if any of them said goodnight he didn't hear. By the time artificial light had completely replaced the sun, breathless and inexorable relief was making his vision swim.

He would definitely be able to sleep tonight. The images of his apartment cluttered and unvacant, the crazed frayed feel of sheets warm from another person's body; these had been purged with every sure neat stroke of his pen. He was numb with completeness.

His phone rang.

The incongruity almost had him simply rejecting the call without checking to see who was calling but he checked and saw the name _Shawn Spencer_. The urge to hurl the phone out the window, not out of anger but in an effort to preserve his regained belief in himself as an island, was very strong.

But some islands are part of archipelagos, right?

He answered. "Lassiter."

"Oh, thank _God._" The voice, which belonged to a woman, was accompanied by a blast of what was probably supposed to be music; Lassiter distinguished a high wailing voice and grating pulses and a fast beat. "Listen, do you know this guy? Skinny, brown hair, never shuts up, says he's psychic?"

_No. I don't know him at all._

"Yes. Shawn Spencer. Why do you have his phone?"

"Because he needs someone to come pick him up. Like, now. Seriously, I have no idea how he's even still fucking _conscious_, but for the moment I really need you to come give your friend a ride home and probably about two gallons of Gatorade because there is a real possibility of alcohol poisoning and _goddamn it _– " A clattering sound, followed by a loud whoop and a louder crash cut off the voice.

The music pumped small and tinny through the phone and Lassiter waited.

"Sorry, this place is just full of _fucking idiots _tonight. Anyway, he's at Blue Star on Thackeray. I'm Tasha, and I will be holding his keys and phone until someone comes for him."

He knew that bar. It wasn't a place he'd ever drink; someone overdosed in the bathroom three years ago and Vice had the place under eyes on regular basis. "Twenty minutes," he said, and hung up.

His footsteps echoed flatly back at him as he walked out of the empty station, nodding goodbye to the half-awake rookie at the desk. The air outside was hot and complex, leaves and sweat and baked asphalt and sugar over the omnipresent flush of salt water; it crashed against his air-conditioner cooled skin and made the empty parking lot crowded.

He made the drive in fifteen minutes, watching in detached awe as his anger grew monolithic and all-encompassing, bringing with it conviction: he would not be engaging with Shawn. He would do whatever he had to in order to get him back to his own home and ensure he didn't die of alcohol poisoning, and then he would leave. No conversation. No questions. No closure; he didn't even know what that would look like.

Parking the car was a feat managed with equal parts canny and brashness. The neighborhood was peeling paint and rainbow graffiti over brick and all of it sharp-edged with time and broken glass, but his car was clearly police. He slid it up to a corner where it would be visible from the bar and made sure his gun and badge caught the yellow glare of the street lamps when he got out. The music from the bar soaked into the whole street and it trickled inside him too as he got closer, making his fingers twitch over the grip of his gun at the invasion of his personal space. The neon blue five-pointed star above the door, which served as the place's sole identification, buzzed angrily at him like it knew what he'd come to do and disapproved.

He didn't care. He went so far as to jab his middle finger in its direction as he pulled open the heavy wooden door and entered.

Flashing lights and music slapped him in the face and the tang of alcohol and sweat and thick smoky perfume lodged heavy in his throat. The crowd was mostly young and all rolling with the beat of the music, metal glittering on faces and hands, light flashing on sequins and caressing leather.

This was not a place he ever imagined finding Shawn. It wasn't a place he ever imagined at all, and finding himself suddenly with an entirely new facet to his world – no.

_He is not any more a part of my world than any other consultant. Stop creating context. _

The bar was a long sleek swoop of glass, tended by a shirtless man and a tall woman with blue ringlets in her black hair and a black leather tube dress that covered little more than necessary. He made his way over and caught her eye.

"I'm looking for Tasha," he yelled, and she nodded and flicked her head for him to follow her.

She lead him around the bar and through a swinging door marked "Private" and then through another door beyond which the music dropped to a whisper and they were in a white empty hallway. "I'm Tasha," she said, and stuck her hand out. "I own the place."

He shook her hand and didn't offer his name, and she showed no sign of wondering. "You're here for Shawn."

He nodded. She pulled Shawn's phone and a set of keys from somewhere indiscernible and dropped them into his hand.

"Good." She ran a hand through her hair and led him to a door marked "Office" and raised an eyebrow at him. "You look pretty solid, I guess, which is what he needs. Like I said, he has had _way_ too much tonight, and when I find out which one of my dumbfuck collegedouche kiddies didn't cut him off, they will be back begging for Mommy and Daddy's credit card like fucking _that_." She snapped her fingers. "I haven't had the cops called in months now and I'd like to keep it that way."

What response was there to that? Lassiter nodded and reminded himself not to care and opened the door.

Shawn sprawled over a swivel chair amidst yellow towers of papers, head tipped back and eyes closed to the coarse light, his limbs appearing to have emancipated themselves from the tyranny of muscular control. A rush of libido to his groin had Lassiter grasping the doorframe and blinking hard, emotion washed away by a tidal wave of want.

Rather than the intricate costumes of metal and leather worn by the crowd on the other end of the hall, Shawn wore dark jeans, worn white at the seams and clinging to his legs. That was it. Above that simple devastating garment his torso was an expanse of pale gold, light glinting off the trail of hair leading down from his navel. Lean arms trailed to the floor. Bare feet rested quiet in the dust beneath the large wooden desk.

Lassiter remembered to breathe. He glanced behind him and found himself alone, Tasha having returned to her crowds and their desires and restraints. When he looked back, Shawn had raised his head and was looking at him with half-open eyes and a crooked smile.

_Everyone looks so young tonight. Maybe because they can't see their futures. _

Several heartbeats passed and then Shawn rasped, "Lllllassie. 'Sup."

Something too harsh and high-pitched to be called a laugh scraped out of Lassiter. "Really? Christ, Spencer." A bitter flood of anger and criticism pressed at him and he closed his mouth firmly. He was the responsible, sober one in this situation and he was damn well going to act like it. "Come on. Let's go."

Shawn blinked, slowly, as the smile drifted away. "Y'called me Spencer…"

With a sigh to cover how that made his chest ache, Lassiter stepped forward and grabbed Shawn's arm, intending to simply haul him out the door.

"Fuck off!" Shawn yanked his arm away and flailed a fist at Lassiter's face. Lassiter caught his wrist and twisted and slammed Shawn against the wall, arm wrenched up behind his back in Lassiter's grip. The only sound for a moment was their heavy breathing, an odd off-beat added to the soft throb of music through the walls. Trembling heat soaked through Lassiter's shirt where he was pressed against Shawn and in the ugly yellow light the skin on Shawn's neck was glowing like a rush of blood.

_I know how that skin tastes. _

Tentatively, Lassiter backed off, releasing Shawn's arm and holding up his hands when Shawn whirled and glared at him, wondering how the hell he'd managed to fuck up this badly. Shawn was unsteady on his feet, swaying and taking tiny steps to compensate, blinking too often.

"Alright, I get it. Bad Cop t'night." Wincing, Shawn rotated his shoulder. "Could've maybe not grabbed th'shoulder I just fucked up, though. Asshole." With that, he wove his way past Lassiter and out the door, trailing a hand along the wall for support as he trudged down the hall. Lassiter followed, and at the end of the hall he held the exit door open for Shawn, who snarled at him before walking through.

They were in the alley behind the bar, shadows clotted like tar over the bricks and the acrid smell of piss sizzling in the air. Lassiter started for the street when he realized Shawn had stopped walking and he turned to see Shawn gazing at him. His lips were twitching and eyes crinkling into the beginning of sob, when he abruptly doubled over and vomited spectacularly.

"Shit," Lassiter hissed and grabbed Shawn around the waist to keep him from falling. Shawn convulsed and vomited again, letting out a moan when it was over. His heart was pounding against Lassiter's hand and his skin was slick with sweat and he was gasping. More vomit poured out of his mouth, miraculously not spattering either man's feet.

Then it stopped and Shawn dangled in Lassiter's arms, groaning softly. The smell of sweet alcohol and myriad handprints rose damply from his skin. Lassiter let go, his fingers slightly numb from clutching. Shawn fell against him and rested his head on his shoulder and Lassiter saw his eyes were closed, his breathing soft and even.

"Oh, no, come on Spencer, at least walk to the car." Don't press against me and make me remember and your lips are right there.

"No."

"Oh, so you are awake. Open your eyes and walk dammit, I'm not Gus. I'll leave you here."

Lassiter regretted his words when green stained eyes met his. "Y'would, wouldn' you. Jus' leave me. Why'd you call me, Lassie?"

"Wh – what? You mean earlier today?" Fairly certain Shawn wasn't fully coherent, Lassiter began walking as he talked, and Shawn came with him, still using him for support. Lassiter wondered if his feet hurt.

"Yeah."

"You seemed to have a pretty good idea without me needing to say anything."

They got to the car, and whatever response Shawn would have made to that was derailed in the face of the immensely complicated task of getting him into the passenger seat and strapped in. He was boneless and his head was nodding, soft bits of words falling from his mouth as he tried to help and got in the way. Eventually Lassiter got the seat belt buckled, and Shawn's head flopped onto his own shoulder as he lost consciousness.

Lassiter took Shawn back to his apartment, telling himself the whole way it was just because he didn't want to drive all over Santa Barbara.

_A/N: I promise this isn't going to turn into some sort of romcom continual-misunderstanding-through-terrible-communication clusterfuck. More soon, I hope. Please review!_


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